


What Happens Now?

by Team_Alpha_Wolf_Squadron



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 88,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25313746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Team_Alpha_Wolf_Squadron/pseuds/Team_Alpha_Wolf_Squadron
Summary: Life after the war was pretty difficult for Draco. No one wanted to hire a Death Eater, his father was in Azkaban, and every Quidditch team he'd tried out for since the start of the season had turned him away, sniggering behind their hands.Until Puddlemere.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Narcissa Black Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 72
Kudos: 317





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't finished this one yet, but it's long enough for me to start posting. don't expect a frequent upload schedule since, while there's about 60,000 words written, it's not even half done and I don't know when I'm going to post the chapters I have written.

“I’m back,” Draco called, setting his broom down.

“And?” Came distantly from somewhere in the manor.

He sighed, trudging towards the staircase. “I didn’t get it.” Just like he didn’t get the last one. Or the one before that. Or the one before that either. 

He knew what his mother was going to say before she appeared, sleeves rolled up and paint on her face, “Draco,” he’d been thinking the same thing but it still hurt to hear, “Maybe this isn’t the right path for you.”

He hummed, letting her hug him tight. “Two more tryouts,” he told her. “Just two and then... if no one will have me I’ll look into something else.”

He felt her nod against his shoulder, the both of them knowing that ‘something else’ was probably just lounging around the manor for the rest of his life. No one wanted to hire him. No one. They had good right not to either. He certainly wouldn’t hire himself. 

She patted him on the shoulder, drawing back and towards the room she’d told him that morning she was changing into a nursery. It certainly looked different, he gave her that. The dark walls had been replaced with white, and the window at the far end had been expanded so it encompassed the whole wall. Already she had flower pots and raised beds set out, all of it tripping him underfoot as she tried to explain just where she wanted to put them.

At least she was finding something to do with her time. Draco had feared, after everything, she might end up- well frankly he didn’t quite know. But he feared something would happen to her. It was nice to see that even without Lucius she could still be happy. Maybe even more so. Father never would have let her make a nursery inside. Or even one at all. That was what the gardens were for, plants. What was the point of tending to them themselves when they had money and servants to do that sort of thing for them. 

“I was thinking we could redo the kitchen too,” she finished with when the pair of them realised she’d be done with this room in a few more days. “Maybe install a few muggle appliances, or perhaps shrink it down a bit. Merlin knows it’s hard to cook when we have ingredients all the way across the room.” She laughed, but it rang hollow in both their ears. 

Still, “I think that’s an excellent idea.” He rubbed his fingers together, remembering, “I’ll clean up and start dinner. The cook book says spaghetti is meant to be an easy dish so I’ll... I’ll do it tonight.”

She nodded, Draco leaving her to tidy up a little. 

The floors creaked under his feet in a way they never would have done two years ago. This whole place creaked in a way it never would have done two years ago come to think of it. His door jammed as it always did when he tried to open it, Draco shoving his shoulder onto it a few times before it let him in. Maybe if he would end up sizing it in properly when he had time. Merlin knew he would once tryouts were over.

He sighed, dumping his gear in his washing basket before journeying across the hall to his bathroom. It took an age to fill the tub, another thing he should think about shrinking, but Draco was willing to wait. If it wasn’t bad enough he got laughed at for merely turning up to tryouts the other recruits revelled in who could throw the most mud at him. It was alright today, the ground wasn’t all that wet, and since they spent most of their meetings on their brooms instead of on the grounds he only had a few places caked in dirt.

Still more than he would have liked but, well, it could have been worse. That was what he always told himself. Everything could always be worse.

He slid inside the warm water as soon as he was sure it would cover his ankles and leaned his head back. Little by little the water level rose until it came up to his neck, only then did he shut the water off, his arms coming up to the sides of the tub. He could feel the water sliding from his skin, the way it lingered on his fingertips before dropping, drip, drip, to the floor.

It started slowing, moving almost rhythmically. 

Like a clock. 

Drip.

Drip.

His breath came fast as he sat up, the room coming back into focus around him. His room. His bathroom. Just him. Mother too, she was fine, she was here, somewhere. 

His chest grew tight, Draco wheezing through it until he could knock his head against the tub again.

Idiot. He was such an idiot. He couldn’t even take a bath in peace. What sort of-

He shuddered through another breath, wiping his eyes and reaching for a sponge. He had dinner to make, and there was no point sitting here since it wouldn’t magically make itself anymore for him.

Despite the fact the sauce was more water than anything else their dinner was good. Certainly better than some of the concoctions they’d come up with over the months. He wrote down everything that was wrong with it anyway, telling himself next time it would be better.

“So that’s spaghetti,” his mother said, crinkling the cook books corner. “The stew was alright too wasn’t it?” the one she’d made two weeks ago that had far too much pepper in.

“Yeah,” again, something that was better than half the stuff they’d made so far. He wiped his mouth, “Do you want me to look for any more books when I go for my next tryout,” since neither of them went out otherwise.

“That would be nice,” since they couldn’t live off spaghetti and stew forever. “But don’t trouble yourself darling. If you don’t have time, your tryout comes first.”

He nodded, making a note anyway to look through the muggle shops until he found another cook book with easy recipes for them to try.

His next tryout was a week away, which meant seven days of waking up at the crack of dawn and forcing himself to do drills until he either dropped from exhaustion or his mother called him in. Seven days to get himself up to an okay standard for one of the best teams in England letting him come to try out for them.

He knew, before he even wracked up there, that they had only accepted his application the same reason the others had. That being they wanted to see if he’d show up. No one, he was sure, actually thought he was serious, or, if they did they didn’t think Draco thought they were being serious about considering hiring him. They wanted to laugh at him. To belittle him. To take their anger out on him because they could now. What did Draco have against them? Voldemort was gone. His father was in Azkaban. Everyone knew Draco was nothing anymore.

Still he went anyway. If only because he hoped against all odds someone would see there was more to him than what he’d done. So he donned his school quidditch gear, just like he had every other time. He polished his boots and his broom and walked into the stadium to sign his name alongside the other potential recruits hoping for a spot on the new team.

It went about as well as he expected. From the moment he got there the talk around him died. More than one person shot a look to his arm, and when it came to picking teams he was last.

He didn’t even get seeker, and quite frankly thanked his endless days of practicing when a bludger almost did him in at the goal posts.

At the end, alone while the others huddled in excited whispers, he watched as the recruiter angled himself towards them. He hadn’t made it in.

Just one more to go the-

“Malfoy.”

He looked up, “Yes?”

The recruiter nodded to where another two people were standing. The ones receiving their new uniforms. 

He wasn’t serious was he?

Draco hefted his broom up, sure there was something going on here. Some sort of prank maybe. Yet the others waiting for their names to be called out didn’t look excited anymore. Instead they were watching with belated horror as Draco ended up in front of one of the other ‘official’ team members.

“Well done,” the woman droned, spirit not really in it as she shoved a horde of blue robes at him. “Practice starts Monday, bring water.”

He clutched the robes tightly in his arms, standing there until someone moved him out of the way. He held onto them through the rest of the name call. Through walking outside. He held them all his way home, expecting someone to jump out at any minute and take them back off him.

But they didn’t. 

Draco walked through his front door, broom down, still with them in his arms.

“Mother?” he croaked. Then louder, “Mother!”

She appeared at a sprint near the stairs, took one look at him and bounded down. Her hands stopped just shy of the robes, hovering, unsure, “Are those...?”

“I start Monday,” he recited.

“Monday,” she repeated. “Monday.” Her face scrunched up and robes or not he had a handful of her now, her arms winding around his neck to squeeze the life out of him. “You did it!”

“I did it,” He realised.

“Oh Draco sweetheart you did it,” she cupped his jaw, hugging him again before taking his robes off him, “We’ll have to figure out how to use an iron. Or look up those ironing charms. I’m not having my son show up to practice with wrinkled robes.” she grinned back at him, happier than he’d ever seen her, “Darling you have a job.”

“I have a job,” Draco nodded. “I have a job.” A real job. A quidditch job. “I’m a Quidditch player,” he said. A real one. The kind he used to see in newspapers when they were posing for a win. “Mother-”

They celebrated by venturing out to an eatery. It was a small place, a muggle place, but the food was better than anything they could have made at home and since his mother had sort of figured muggle money out Draco didn’t feel quite so afraid to be sat there.

“Will you be telling father?” Draco remembered to ask on their way home. He knew she still wrote to him. Draco had tried doing it too. Not so much these days.

“I don’t see why not,” his mother said. She took his arm, patting it lightly, “Not that it matters. You’re finally doing something you love Draco. Don’t let anything anyone says to you stop you from remembering that.”

He nodded, the two of them spending the rest of the weekend looking up ironing charms, and practicing them on less important clothes, before Draco was ready to go Monday morning.

The stadium was just the same as it had been, if a little damper. Before Draco could even get in however he was taken by his arm to face a man that looked vaguely familiar. Not that it mattered. All the faces these days were familiar, and all of them had something vulgar to say to him. 

Except this guy “Malfoy.” Smiling at him like he was some rare bird. “Thought I’d catch you before we started. How are you? I heard you played keeper at the tryouts, I told Peter’s it was a dumb thing outright to make you play it, but, gotta say I was impressed.”

Wait, “What?”

The guy kept on rambling, for a good ten minutes he had Draco standing there going on about his flexibility as a player and how lucky they were that Draco had come here before being swept up by another team. 

Did he- did he not understand that this was one of the last tryouts for the season? Did he not care?

Draco couldn’t wrap his head around it. Or that, “You talked to the recruiter about me?”

“‘Course I did,” the guy gushed, the two of them finally making their way into the stadium. “Soon as I saw you I told Peters we needed you.”

Draco shook his head, “Why?”

The guy gave him an odd look, “Because you’re a good flyer.”

“Right,” Draco muttered, still not understanding.

“I mean,” Thankfully he didn’t have to since the guy went on, “I remember how you went up against Potter in school. Always thought he’d go pro but, well, last I heard he was looking into the Auror’s. Anyway, Potter was a damn good flyer, and anyone who can go toe to toe with him and almost win needs to be on a team.”

Ah. Right. Now he was becoming a little more familiar. “You used to play on the Gryffindor team.” 

“Wood, Oliver Wood,” the guy held his hand out.

“Draco.” He wanted to be mad that Potter had something to do with him getting this job, but, well, he couldn’t be. Wood hadn’t said Potter had put in a good word. Really he’d said he’d been looking at how many times Draco had lost to Potter and was still impressed. Impressed with Draco’s flying. Impressed with his flexibility as a player. 

Potter may have got his foot in the door but Draco had got this job on his own merit, and that, somehow, made this all the better. That meant that it hadn’t been a pity hire. That he really was good enough to be here. To have the chance to be here anyway.

He’d show them too. Draco had been dreaming of going pro since he was five years old, no way was he letting this opportunity get away from him. 

That didn’t mean it was easy.

Quidditch training was brutal. That Draco learned on his first hour of showing up. After the first speech of alcohol and drugs and all sorts of things none of them should be doing now they were a ‘brand’, they moved onto the more physical side of things. Five days a week they’d spend training. Not just on brooms either. Laps, push ups, sit ups, lunges, whatever else came to mind he was going to get intimately familiar with as he trained his body into the best shape of its life. 

He went home exhausted, barely able to get through the door before he was sliding down and needing a five minute rest. He got fed on the job at least. Well, he got lunch on the job anyway, which just meant it was his evening meal that he had to think about every night. Even then he was on a strict diet.

One that he didn’t think he was going to stick to when him and his mother ended up burning the chicken he was meant to eat that night.

He did basically nothing on the weekends but sleep. Often in his mother’s nursery, the plants shading him from the sun as he tried to forget there was a bed upstairs that was technically his.

Still, the training was working. After a while he no longer felt as tired. Nor did he find he was as slow on his broom. It turned out his reaction times had been abysmal, something he only realised when he managed to locate the snitch in under two minutes and keep an eye on it the whole hour he was up there. 

By the time his first game came around Draco was a high strung machine ready to sit there and wait for his name to be called.

Reserves was boring. Very boring. But reserves were still part of the team, and Draco’s name was still called out along with the others at the beginning so he didn’t really mind sitting there doing nothing. It also helped him see just how much he had to live up to now he was on the other side of things. It was one thing to just watch a game and another to know at any second he could be called up there so he needed to keep an eye on the snitch just in case.

Wood was good company, if not the rest of the team. Quite frankly he didn’t give a damn what Draco had done in his life. To Wood, it turned out, if you were good at Quidditch, or at least liked the sport, then you were okay in his book. A philosophy Draco was sort of wishing others had. He didn’t miss the way no one else spoke to him. Or the way the other team at the beginning of the match refused to shake his hand. Nor did he miss the papers that were thrust in his face whenever he was in a crowd of people, all of them proclaiming he was ‘up to something’. He didn’t miss the cheers that were sent his way, or his team’s way, when the commentator helpfully told them that Draco’s wand was under lock and key for the duration of the game, and until everyone had emptied the stands. 

He didn’t miss any of it. But like his mother said, he couldn’t let people make him forget this was what he’d always wanted to do. So he grinned and bore it, sitting there with his head held high and listening with one ear as Wood shouted his own comments to both Draco and those playing while keeping an eye on the snitch.

They won, since this was Puddlemere, meaning a big after game party Draco gladly backed out of. They’d earned their victory, there was no need for Draco to make things awkward by making them suffer his company when they wanted to get drunk. No one should have to get drunk around a Death Eater. 

Besides. Narcissa had her own little celebration planned for him when he got home anyway. That being another night out at an eatery where the two of them painstakingly tried to decipher a menu that had at least twenty different type of burgers on it. 

“My trainer’s going to kill me,” Draco muttered when the burger came, mouth watering. 

“Let him, you’ve earned a break,” She already had her mouth around her own, Draco stifling a smile at her using her hands. 

It took a moment for him to do the same, feeling like he was seven years old again and mother had stole both of them out for the day. 

It became a sort of tradition after that. While the others would party their win away, Draco would go out with his mother and spend some of that hard earned money on food that didn’t taste stale or burnt in his mouth.

He, dare he say, started enjoying it. He started enjoying going outside again, more than just for work. His mother did too. So long as they stuck to the muggle side of England there was a whole host of things to catch their eye. One day they might be enjoying Thai, the next his mother had found a local garden centre with advertisements for pottery classes. “I mean,” she said, folding the leaflet over and over in her hands, “It would just be that little bit more special wouldn’t it. Having the pots be made by myself.” Her little nursery would wholly be hers then.

“Mother if you want to go then go. I’m not going to tell you not to,” Merlin knows she’d heard enough ‘no’s in her life. Gardening was harmless anyway. Pottery was harmless. Besides, if she spent more time outside the manor then she might not spend so long wandering the halls. Draco knew she did. Just like she knew he hated doing so. While his mother looked for the ghosts of what was, Draco wanted to shut them all out and never think of them again. It still didn’t mean he couldn’t hear her outside his door on an evening. Light sleeper he’d forced himself to be he woke at any sound that creaked outside. It still sent his heart racing, but his mother never dawdled long, and never did she come in.

It would be good for her. All of this was good for them.

They won seven more games. His mother had made three pots by then, all of them the ugliest thing Draco had ever seen. He loved them. More importantly his mother loved them too. 

“I got the base right on this one,” she said when she brought home her latest. “I need to keep my hand steadier when I start on the neck but I think this one came out alright.”

It hadn’t. It was as misshapen as they came, yet his mother was happy. She had a project, something to improve on, something other than sit there and look pretty. Which was why Draco wasn’t wholly surprised when he saw her looking through muggle architectural magazines a few days later. 

“I think she’s thinking about renovating,” Draco mumbled through their next game.

“Renovating?” Wood asked. “Like the whole manor?”

Draco shrugged, eyes still on the snitch. “She’s always hated the place, and now father’s not there she has no one to tell her no.”

Wood side eyed him, “And you’re alright with her knocking down your own house?”

Yeah, if anyone else had known the younger Draco Malfoy they’d probably be giving him that look too, but, “I hate that place. I’d burn it down myself if it wouldn’t leave us homeless.”

Wood gave him a long look before silently turning back to the game. They won that one too.

Training got a little tougher now they were on a winning streak. Peters wanted no room for error, meaning everyone saw the injury coming long before it actually did. 

It came at the worse time as well. Right in the middle of their next game. One second Sarah Roberts was flying easily on her broom and the next she was sailing to the ground. Muscle spasm the mediwitch said later. Her neck had swung too fast and she’d just clicked it the wrong way. Not a serious injury then, but one that definitely had Robert’s in a lot of pain while the clock kept ticking.

Which meant, “Malfoy,” Peters appeared in front of him faster than he would have thought. Already Draco had his broom in hand, tying up the last of his over robes. “Listen kid,” he said, “They’re gonna say a lot of mean things to you out there. I’m not even sure they’re going to let us have this one if you do pull it off. But you’re on this team for a reason.”

Draco nodded, “I’ll be fine.” 

Peters motioned to the pitch, yelling at the ref that Malfoy was up to play seeker. The silence that followed the commentator’s recollection of it was deafening. For a moment Draco thought he’d simply lost his hearing. Except no, he could hear himself breathe, he could hear the flap of other people’s robes. It was just silence. Pure, stunned silence. 

Then the booing started up.

He tuned it out, actually preferring it to the silence. He focused instead on the snitch. They needed three more goals before Draco would be safe to dive for it. The problem was the opposite team needed the same.

Except, well, it looked like Draco’s presence on the pitch was good for more than seeking. If the crowd was distracted, the players were down right terrified. He saw more than one Arrows chaser take a berth so wide to avoid him they missed the quaffle. It took mere seconds for Draco’s teammates to cotton on, and seconds more for them to start ambling the quaffle more Draco’s way. With the others too scared to get too close, so long as they kept Draco near Puddlemere had the easiest time of their life transporting the quaffle.

It was all uphill from there.

They won.

Except this time instead of a party, the two teams were set on the ground, Peters and the Arrow’s manager yelling back and forth with the ref whether it was a fair game or if they needed to schedule a rematch. Apparently Draco’s presence there was unfair to the other team. “Unfair?” Peters yelled, even if he’d warned Draco before he went out that something like this was bound to happen, “Unfair! He’s a player just like anyone else. He has a contract he shows up to training. I have his wand in my office under lock and key. Unfair? The kid’s a waif. Have you seen those arms? What’s he going to do to you? Bitch slap you?”

There were a few titters from Draco’s teammates, Wood downright sniggering even as the Arrow’s manager fought tooth and nail for a rematch. 

Eventually the ref intervened, “Penalties,” he decided. “Keep Malfoy off the pitch and we’ll decide from here who won.”

Not exactly the worst decision, and even Peters had to admit he wasn’t going to get any better, so there Draco was, sitting on the reserves once more and watching his team win for the second time. This time they were allowed a party.

“Sure you aren’t coming?” Wood called.

Draco shook his head, “You guys enjoy yourselves though.”

Sarah poked her head out, neck fine now, “You sure? We have firewhisky.”

“My- my mother’s waiting for me,” something no nineteen year old should have to say to his friends when offered alcohol. “Thank you though.”

Sarah shrugged, “see you at practice.”

He waved, going home to see his mother, who, as it turned out, had her ear glued to the wireless all afternoon. She whacked his arm as soon as he came in, “You played,” she grouched. “I can’t believe I missed it. That’s it, I’m coming to your next game.”

“Roberts was injured, it’s not likely to happen agai-”

She held her finger up and that was that. It wasn’t like his mother hated Quidditch either. She just hated the mingling before and after the game. Trophy wife and all that as she was. Now however, with the anonymity of a regular seat and enough face paint to put even the most fanatic fan to shame, she blended right in with the rest of the wizards who showed up. It was also nice not having to go back home then go out after every game. He hated waiting around as she found her bag.


	2. Chapter 2

Surprisingly, not long after she started attending his matches, he was asked by her for a few extra tickets. 

“Like, for a date?” Draco checked. He didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

“No,” she scoffed, which eased some of the tightening in his chest. “I meant for my sister. Andromeda,” she clarified quickly. “My other- she started writing shortly after your father was taken away. I thought…” she wrung her hands.

“Do you think I’m going to tell you not to talk to her?” Draco wondered. Did she really think that low of him.

She looked up at him, “It’s not that. Quite frankly I’m still trying to convince myself. We didn’t end things on good terms, and after everything that’s happened…”

Yeah, after everything that’s happened he’s as surprised as she probably was that Andromeda wanted anything to do with them. “You can have the tickets. Two? Or is she bringing someone?” for security or whatever. Andromeda was married right?

Mother thought about that for a moment before deciding, “Three, just to be on the safe side. Her grandson, Teddy?” yes, he knew about Teddy. Every Death Eater still alive knew about Teddy. “He should be about two now. I’m not sure they let under fives go for free anymore.”

“I’ll check,” he’d still get her three just in case however.

Andromeda came to the manor the night before the game. Neither his mother or Draco had really expected her. Quite frankly the door bell going at all had Draco in such a panic he was near climbing out his window before he remembered they weren’t in the war anymore. What’s more his mother was downstairs somewhere and he, well he didn’t want to leave her on her own. So together they’d opened the door, and found a chattering two year old alongside a woman who could be Aunt Bella’s twin on the other side.

“Cissy,” Andromeda greeted, walking in without invitation. She handed Teddy over to Draco’s mother, the toddler squinting at her as Andromeda took her coat off. “It’s a little drafty in here.”

“The house elves used to keep everything warm,” mother said, shaking off her shock. “I thought we were meeting up tomorrow.”

Andromeda sighed, her eyes raking over Draco. He swallowed down the pit of fear that climbed in his throat. This wasn’t Bella. Andromeda was a good person, proven so when she said, “We were, but then you mentioned how awful your evening meals were these days and I thought it best to come over sooner. Besides,” she took Teddy back, “This little one’s been talking non stop about meeting his cousin. You’re going to be too busy playing tomorrow to say hello so,” she made a face at Teddy, the little guy giggling, his hair changing colour until it was bright blue. “Best to get the messy stuff out the way don’t you think?”

He didn’t quite know what to make of Andromeda, and quite frankly tried to stay out of her way the entire evening. Teddy on the other hand was much simpler. He could walk, and sort of talk, repeating the same words over and over again and expecting Draco to understand him. It was rather endearing. Especially because Teddy seemed to know who he was. Unlike with his mother, Teddy had no qualms running around Draco’s feet. He even let Draco hold the little toy wolf Teddy had brought with him while the boy started laughing his way through the halls. 

“You can talk to him you know,” nearly scared the life out of Draco. Andromeda stared back at him, brow raised, “He understands you,” she nodded to where Teddy was watching both of them avidly. “It’s how they learn.”

“Right.”

She held her hand out to him after a while, “It’s nice to meet you.”

He hesitated a moment before taking it, “You too.”

She gave him a sad smile, “It wasn’t easy you know. Running away. It was the hardest thing I ever did.”

“Right?” Was she going somewhere with this.

Apparently she was, “What I’m saying is that I very well could have been in this manor too Draco. That whole war wasn’t right, but what a lot of people don’t understand is how hard it is to run away. They think it’s just a matter of choosing what’s right. They don’t know that doing so leaves us with nothing. I had nothing when I ran away from home. Ted tried, and in time it helped, but I had nothing Draco. But I was okay with having nothing. Not everyone is, and not everyone has the strength to embrace nothingness when the alternative is right in front of you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. It didn’t matter anyway. After a moment Andromeda clasped his shoulder, giving him one last smile before nodding to where Teddy had pulled himself up and was toddling back off down the halls.

“Make sure he doesn’t get lost,” she called.

Draco had never moved so fast in his life, catching up with Teddy and making sure he was alright the rest of the evening.

Dinner was marginally better now there was someone who actually knew what they were doing cooking. Mother looked happier too, her notebook full of spells Draco could see she was buzzing to try for their next meal. It was nice. Lively in a way the manor had never been. Draco put most of it down to Teddy however, since his mother and Andromeda spent most of the meal in silence. The little guy spent nearly all dinner leaning across his seat to make sure Draco had the same as he did, then babbling nonsense to Draco until Teddy managed to finesse a few more carrots onto his own plate.

They left just after, Teddy waving from his grandmother’s back the whole way down the drive, his hair as light as Draco’s. Draco found himself smiling even after they disappeared from sight. His mother put a hand on his arm, leading him back inside, “I think this might be good for us,” she said.

Draco had to agree with her.

He didn’t see them the next day. His mother told him that they thoroughly enjoyed the match, just that Teddy was getting a little fussy and, well, the after match dinners were sort of him and his mother’s thing, so she didn’t want to intrude. “Invite her next time anyway,” he forced out. He wasn’t going to stand in the way of them rekindling something between them.

Yet his mother merely swiped another finger around her wine glass muttering “Maybe.”

She noticed. Andromeda had too. Both of them had noticed that Draco wasn’t all too fond of her appearance. It was proven when Andromeda showed up the next time to the manor with her hair dyed. “You didn’t have to,” Draco sighed.

“If it makes you feel easier I don’t mind,” Andromeda said. “Besides, the light colour hides the grays better.”

Draco showed Teddy the nursery after that, still keeping somewhat of a berth, albeit his heart didn’t immediately try and jump out of his chest now he didn’t see dark hair checking in on them from around the corner.

“Harry’s finishing up Hogwarts,” Andromeda told him over dinner that night. Told his mother since she had been the one to ask what Andromeda did with her spare time these days. “He usually comes around every week or so. Poor boy’s a bit lonely. He keeps me occupied anyway. He’s not been around too many young children I think. He’s a little hopeless when it comes to the whole nappies and milk thing.”

“Right,” even to Draco’s ears his mother’s voice sounded a little hollow.

Andromeda didn’t snap like Draco expected however, merely stating, “He is Teddy’s godfather.”

“It’s not-”

“I know,” Andromeda sighed. “But I am going to be talking about him Cissy. He’s a big part of Teddy’s life.”

It was his mother’s turn to sigh, “I know,” this time.

Conversation was a little stilted after that, Draco keeping well out of it in favour of dangling a few beans Teddy’s way. 

They stayed a little longer this time. Long enough for Teddy to conk out on the parlour floor, his limbs splayed everywhere and hair changing colours every time he breathed. Draco, again, was sad to see him go. Sad to see them both go. The manor felt so much more welcoming with the pair of them in it. Without them, Draco quickly found his way back to his room.

It was two more games before Draco saw his first defeat. The elements were against them today, thunder shaking the grounds beneath them and lightning attempting to fell more players than the bludgers. Three reserves ended up playing. None of them were Draco, and ultimately the other team had the advantage that day.

They came off the pitch with their brooms held high however, their manager actually happy about the defeat, telling them in the locker rooms, “At least now they can’t claim dark magic keeping our winning streak.” Which, yeah, sort of was a bonus. 

His mother still took him out afterwards, asking him, of all things, if he would like to babysit Teddy maybe one of these nights. “Oh?”

His mother pursed her lips, “It’s just, Andromeda and I were thinking about going out.”

“Out?” Like, out on the town? Did people his mother’s age even still do that? “Are you… meeting people?” People other than his father.

“Well…” her face turned a little red, “If they happen to be in the same place then I don’t see why not. But sweetheart we honestly just want to go have fun.”

Which, “Okay,” he could get behind. “Just tell me when.”

When being the following Sunday. For a two year old Teddy came with a lot of equipment. Toys, blankets, food, baby gate that Andromeda installed in the parlour and told Draco outright that if he didn’t want to hear something smashing in the manor to just keep Teddy in there. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come to yours?” he asked as Andromeda set a few books down, all of them with minimal words and lots of pictures.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Andromeda told him, “I just think it would be nice for Teddy not to be woken up by your mother and I coming in later.”

Right, they were going there. That made sense. 

When it came to sleeping arrangements Draco dragged another bed into his own room, Andromeda modifying it a little before checking the rest of his belongings out. It wasn’t, again, that she didn’t trust him. More so that she was used to the curiosity of an ever learning two year old and didn’t like the look of how sharp some of Draco’s possessions were.

He helped hide them in a trunk, writing the last of Andromeda’s instructions down before it was just him and Teddy. Alone. In the manor. 

He drew a shaky breath, turning to see Teddy with his butt high in the air trying to get his balance. He could do this. 

He could do it too. Most of it. He could play with Teddy, or just sit there and let the two year old direct him in whatever narrative he was making up. He could feed Teddy from the very generous meal Andromeda had made the two of them. He could even draw a bath for Teddy, making sure the water stayed the right height. It was just the rest of it that was hard.

“Please Teddy,” Draco tried, holding the tiny onesie in one hand as the other poised to strike. “I’ve told you these tiles are slippery. We don’t want you going back to grandma with a hurt head now do we?”

Except apparently he did since Teddy bolted before Draco could think of grabbing him. 

It was like trying to catch a snitch. Except the snitch was much easier to manhandle than a two year old. It was smaller, for one, and didn’t kick him in the face for another. Nor did it think kicking Draco in the face was the funniest thing ever created and tried to do it again for the rest of the night when Draco finally managed to get some sort of clothing on him.

“You’re a menace,” Draco told him, arms crossed and staring Teddy down. The kid was standing on his bed, bouncing a little in place, eyes daring him to try and put Teddy down to sleep. “You’re not even going to win yet you have that smug smile,” Draco shook his head. “Just you wait. I can let you run around this whole manor but at some point you’re going to pass out, and when you do, you’re going to end up right where you are, right now. So,” Draco hesitantly took the sheet, sliding it down, “Why don’t we both call a truce and you get in? Huh?”

Teddy took one look before he fell on his face and bounced to the floor, his run around starting up again and leaving Draco very exhausted.

He was right however. Draco did win eventually. Teddy passed out, just like Draco said he would, snoring a little on Draco’s trunk and, when morning came, he was in his bed. Just in time for Andromeda and Draco’s mother to come home, both of them smiling even if they looked like hell.

“Fun night?” Draco guessed.

“Very,” his mother kissed him on the cheek.

“Teddy was good wasn’t he?” Andromeda checked.

“He was fine,” Draco said, shoving his shoes on, “He’s still sleeping. I didn’t know if you’d want him awake or not.” She gave him a surprised look before going upstairs to check on him. Draco didn’t worry. The most he’d get told off for was upsetting Teddy’s sleeping pattern, so he grabbed his broom and told his mother, “I’ll see you tonight,” waving her goodbye.

Four more games and they were officially out of the league. They’d made it to the quarter finals however, which was more than enough to celebrate. “There’s always next year,” Peters said. Or the other games they had lined up when the new cup started. 

The good news was, now that they were out of the semi finals Draco got a few weeks off. The bad news was that he knew going back to work after such a break was going to be hell.

Still, he took to the break as best he could. That being he spent every day on his broom pretending the manor below him was actually the stadium he trained in. His mother never said anything when he came in, just like he never mentioned the things she did to pretend this wasn’t where Voldemort had spent his last few years. Instead they settled into that comfortable peace they’d developed before Draco had got his life on track.

No papers, especially the prophet which Andromeda had dropped accidentally one visit proclaiming Draco was using his time off to get back into the dark arts. No talking about what was obviously bothering both of them. Just them, living.

“Andromeda wants to know if we’d like to spend Christmas eve with her,” mother said one evening.

“Oh?” He’d expected something along these lines. He merely thought he’d be babysitting again while his mother and aunt went off to have fun. 

“Apparently it’s a quiet time. P- Potter spends it at the Weasleys.” 

Ah. “Okay.” No uncomfortable crowds or people who would stand there and question his every move all night. 

“Okay as in we’re going?” his mother checked.

He nodded, stuffing another mouthful of pie in his mouth. It was considerably better than the one a few months ago. 

He didn’t quite know how to handle Christmas. Usually when he was invited around someone else’s home that meant formal robes and standing there being showed off for half the night. Andromeda’s house on the other hand, well, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. Did he presume it was going to be formal? Would that be insulting to her? She was family after all, and, she was honestly one of the more laid back members of his family he’d ever met so would she see Draco dressing up, looking uncomfortable in her own home, an insult? Or would the opposite be true? Would coming informally when it was a formal occasion mean he was stuck there all night looking a fool.

He ended up in his mother’s rooms the day beforehand, watching carefully what she chose to put out before doing the same in his own room.

When they finally turned up he didn’t know what he was worried about. Andromeda didn’t even look at his clothes, instead looking back over her shoulder she told him where Teddy was and dragged his mother over to the kitchen.

Andromeda’s home in general was nice. Smaller than the manor. More homey because of that. There were toys strewn about the floor, Draco picking a few of them up before finding the messy culprit tossing another one out of his toy box next to him.

“One would think you were spoiled Teddy,” Draco told him, accepting the grin and hug that came with being welcome in this house. “I missed you too.”

It was a long day. A boring day really. He spent half of it playing nonsense games with Teddy and the other lounging on a sofa watching muggle Christmas movies. He even napped, surprised when it got dark that he’d managed to sleep more than a few hours. He liked it. The novelty of napping. Of being here in a warm room and listening to noise a few feet away that didn’t make him freeze up. He liked the fact he hadn’t woken when Teddy had, probably slapped since he was too young to know what gentle was, but put his cuddly owl next to Draco’s head. 

Which was why he resented all the more when that peace was broken by the floo acting up. 

One whoosh of green and out strode Potter. Covered in soot, he didn’t look that much different from the last Draco had seen him. Considering that had been at the Death Eater trials that wasn’t a good thing. His hair was still hopeless, and Draco supposed he couldn’t help the dirt since he had just stepped out of a fireplace, but the rest of it? The dark circles under his eyes, the gauntness to his face. He didn’t look well. He didn’t look well at all.

Yet he still cracked a smile when Teddy appeared from nowhere to crash into his legs, his arms looking to have some trouble lifting Teddy up as he said, “You’ve grown. God look at you.” He planted a kiss on Teddy’s cheek, “Oh, I missed you Ted.”

Judging from the sloppy kiss back Teddy had as well.

Draco hoisted himself up in his seat, swinging his legs around. He knew Potter had seen him. He also knew as soon as the hello with Teddy was done he’d have something to say, and Draco didn’t know what. He just didn’t know what. 

His hands clenched in the sofa underneath him, preparing himself for the usual onslaught of words.

Yet, “Harry!” saved him a few minutes longer as Andromeda finally poked her head around the side.

Draco’s mother was with her, coming to stand behind Draco after a moment. “It’s been a long day,” she said, hand coming to Draco’s shoulder, “I’m sure you need to put Teddy to bed soon.”

Andromeda, either reading the room, or noticing how much of a bad idea it was to have them all in one place nodded, “I’ll see you out then,” letting go of Potter to more or less shield their way to the fireplace. “Owl me tomorrow won’t you Cissy? I want to know what you think of my gift.”

His mother nodded, accepting the hug when it came before more or less pushing Draco through the fire and into their home.

Their cold, empty home.

Christmas itself was alright. Draco got a new broom, courtesy of his mother, and a new contract from work meaning he definitely was coming back after this break. His mother did well for herself too. A new set of robes, a necklace and, from Andromeda, one of those muggle devices they use to talk to each other.

“We’re going to have to find a way to get it to work,” his mother mused, looking over the strange device like it wasn’t going to spontaneously make noise. 

“We’re keeping it?”

Mother gave him a look, “Of course we are. Besides, this will certainly save the owl from flying in that snow.”

Draco didn’t like it. Mainly because he’d heard telophones before and he knew as soon as one went off he’d be a wreck. The noise was just- he didn’t like it. His mother had a solution for that however, placing the damn thing in the parlour, the one she only frequented these days. 

He still heard it. But unlike making him jump with its loud shrill tone all he heard was a soft chime, and most of the time he put it down to the wind blowing the wrong way. Nothing to get flustered about. 

Still, it didn’t have him anymore on edge whenever he was anywhere near the parlour room.


	3. Chapter 3

The owls did enjoy the break, it turned out. They were certainly more affectionate with Draco now they weren’t constantly off on their errands answering his mother’s letters or Draco’s meetings with his manager. In fact the damn thing started liking Draco so much it started appearing outside his window.

He knew he never should have started giving it treats.

“You can’t stay in here,” He told it for the fifth time, carrying it on his arm all the way back to its perch downstairs. “That’s my room, and you’ve lived here long enough it’s never been available to you before.”

The owl stared blankly at him, no doubt planning to fly back to his room as soon as he turned his back. Which it did. Again and again it did until Draco was too tired to take it back and merely left it tapping at his window.

It tried again the next day. Then the next. Quite frankly Draco was happy when the summons came to go back to work since it meant he wasn’t reduced to arguing with an owl for something to do during the day.

It felt good to be back on the pitch. Freeing. He hadn’t realised just how tightly wound he’d been until he was being whacked in the head with a bludger. 

“Ow,” he held the ice pack up to let the mediwitch do her thing. Then promptly accepted the laps around the pitch for not having his attention on the pitch.

It was a grueling three months after that. He trained, he went home, he slept, he woke up in pain and thought maybe to have a bath but never did before turning up to the pitch again for another round of training.

But he wasn’t sorry for it. Not at all.

Not when he went home and found his face staring up at him from the Prophet alongside his teammates as the spring season was finally announced. Not when he got his first letter from Teddy with words that he definitely had aunt Andromeda help him with telling Draco he was a ‘superstar’. Not when he finally was able to sleep at night because he was too exhausted to do anything else. 

This was good. Better than he ever hoped for.

The season kicked off alright. They were starting from scratch which meant no one was riding on their victories. Or, his team wasn’t. He felt a little more comfortable this time around too, sitting on the reserves as everyone did their jobs. Comfortable enough to actually listen to Wood when he started on his own Christmas in between commentary about the match.

“It was a little sad. I mean, there were still a load of empty chairs. But it was better than last year- oh come on! Foul! Get him ref!”

Empty chairs. “I quite liked how small our Christmas was. My aunt had us around and I watched telly all day. It was good.”

Wood’s head whipped around along with several other people. “Your aunt?” One of them muttered.

Oh. “No. Andromeda. My- my mother has two sisters.” Damn. “Er, her daughter was married to that Lupin fellow. He taught at Hogwarts?” 

Wood seemed to have been present for that year since he nodded, relaxing a little. “Thought you meant…”

Yeah. Draco knew exactly who he meant. “No. She never would have had a telly.” 

His joke fell flat with everyone.

It took a good couple of minutes before attention was back on the game, the rest of their time in the box spent in pure silence.

As if to prove to themselves, too, that Draco had been telling the truth, he saw a few people linger outside of the changing rooms as Draco’s mother and aunt came down to get him. He saw the way they tensed, how they noticed Andromeda’s resemblance to… but they also saw the differences too, one by one all of them heading in.

His mother seemed to have noticed the attention, giving him a forced smile as she hugged him, “Everything alright?”

He gripped his broom a little tighter, “Fine. We were just talking about Christmas.”

Her smile fell, her hand rubbing up one of his arms, “It’s going to take a while,” she offered, she, at least, probably knowing about the empty chairs nearly everyone had these days at big gatherings.

He gripped his broom so tight his hand started hurting, his thoughts going blank for a moment before sorting themselves out again. “Can we go?” 

She nodded, leading him over to where Teddy was trying to sit himself in a wet puddle.

The second game of the season went a bit better. Everyone had time in training to get over the fact he was a former Death Eater. Again. Or they at least thought winning was more important since they didn’t treat him with outright hostility. Not like some of the other teams still did. Things were amiable in the reserves box once more.

Until the fourth game of the season rolled around.

All Draco heard from the moment he walked into practice that last morning before the match up until actual kick off the next day were “Did you hear?” “I can’t believe it!” “He’s actually coming to one of our matches.” “I trained him myself you know.” “We should try and scout him before he goes back to school, invite him to a training session.”

Potter.

He should have known at some point Potter would be at a Quidditch match. He’d just rather hoped it wasn’t one of his. Or, at least, he didn’t know until after the game was over and they both could pretend that neither one of them knew the other was there.

He felt like he was in school all over again as he heard people make up wild imagined stories about Potter. About how he’d taken on a basilisk and defeated it in under a minute in second year. Partly true, just, Draco highly doubted it took under a minute. How Potter was one of the greatest wizards to ever live despite the fact Draco knew he was subpar at everything that wasn’t defence and even with his extensive knowledge of defence had only three spells on his duelling rota. How Potter was so great. So handsome. It got to the point Draco literally couldn’t stand to be around his teammates and spent the entire match leaning against the crowd box to drown out their talking. 

When the match was over, and Puddlemere won, since of course they did, Draco wasn’t playing, he’d never been happier in his life to trudge to the training rooms. Dinner couldn’t come quick enough.

Except then he walked out, and as was his luck Potter was standing  _ just there _ .

It was a trial and a half not to let his lip curl up. This was the man who had cut his Christmas nap short. Who had also saved his life and Draco wasn’t one to forget things like that. Or the fact he was currently still carrying a wand that could very well have still been in Potter’s possession if the man had willed it. 

If he were honest with himself, he wasn’t even all that bothered about seeing Potter. It was more he was bothered about Potter seeing him. Draco didn’t have it in him to fight anymore. He didn’t want trouble, he’d finally gotten something out of his life he could work with. He didn’t need Potter stirring all that up with a few misplaced words.

So when Draco walked out and saw Potter, he made an effort not to interact. He just sidestepped around him and walked off to where he saw his mother. She hugged him tight as soon as he was in reach, seeming to drag him away as fast as she could. He didn’t fight it.

“What was he even doing there?” Draco wondered later as he struggled through a steak. “I thought he was finishing school.”

His mother levelled him with a look, “It’s easter sweetheart.”

Right. He remembered going home for easter a few times. Still, “That doesn’t explain why he was at the match.” It wasn’t even a big match. No finals or semi finals. What was Potter doing there? 

“Maybe he supports Puddlemere,” his mother suggested.

Draco shook his head, “Don’t think so.” Somewhere that didn’t click right. He vaguely remembered Potter and Weasley always sporting orange colours whenever it came to Quidditch season. “I think they’re Cannon fans.”

“Then I honestly don’t know.”

Except Wood did. At next practice Wood told everyone he’d sent the tickets out as an incentive to Harry to maybe come and see what being professional would be like. “I mean we got Malfoy, we may as well try and get Potter too. Then we’d be unstoppable,” the man finished, a dreamy look in his eye.

“Except then I’d probably be sacked,” Draco huffed. “There’s no way anyone’s putting Potter as anything less than a Seeker.”

Wood didn’t look too disappointed. Neither did the others who were listening in. Except with Wood that was because, “We’ll just bump you up to chaser then. You’re a versatile player Malfoy. It’s one of the reasons you got this job.”

Which he supposed had some truth in it. He was put in for chaser during training just as much as seeker, the only problem was when it came to games the chasers got knocked out more than the seeker. If Draco had been on reserve for chaser he definitely would have been playing more by now. 

“So is he coming then?” Scott asked. “Potter? You asked him to the training session right?”

“I did indeed,” Wood gloated. “And he is indeed. He should be here around nine. I said he could watch for a little bit, talk to Peters, see if he wants to join in then we’ll have a friendly this afternoon.”

Joy.

There was no time to brace himself however since as soon as Wood finished speaking Peters was out and telling them to warm up. Draco didn’t argue with that. 

He was on his eighth lap when he spied someone new in the stadium. It didn’t take a genius to figure it was Potter. He was standing to the side, sure enough talking with Peters. He put a bit more oomph into his strides after that, he wasn’t going to be shown up. He’d worked hard for this. He wasn’t going to let Potter bump him out, no matter what Wood said about him being versatile. 

He put his all into warming up, which meant he was well and truly exhausted before they even got on their brooms. Luckily he was used to working through it, so he hung back a little higher than the others and rested his poor body long enough for him to do his drills flawlessly.

When they touched down for lunch he’d never eaten so fast so he could spend the rest of it lying on one of the benches feeling sorry for himself. Dramatic maybe but he’d just done a hundred push ups in under two minutes and his arms were hurting. He deserved a break.

The afternoon went much like the morning. He was forced to do physical exercise until he wanted to cry, then he was put on a broom and told to do one maneuver or another until he could do it in his sleep.

Only when there was no way any player had any energy left did Peters announce a game, and just as Draco knew this day would go, bright eyed and rested Potter was playing seeker. If Peters wasn’t promising Draco’s resignation in favour of getting Potter to sign by the end of the match he’d be surprised.

As it was, he rested his head in his hands and willed himself to pay attention. He could do this. He wasn’t even playing seeker, so he could definitely do- “Oi Peters! Why don’t we put Malfoy on seeker? Make it a bit more familiar to Potte-”

He got Wood in the chest with his elbow. “Shut up!” He’d play chaser. He’d happily play chaser. Then at least Peters had nothing to compare him to. He hadn’t been at Hogwarts with them after all. 

Yet the damage had been done. Peters had heard Wood, which meant after a small conversation with Potter, and a grin Draco had to force himself not to punch off that damn scarhead, he was facing Potter twenty feet off the ground and waiting for the whistle to blow.

He refused to look Potter’s way. He’d been trained not to after all, and instead concentrated on the game starting below him. Potter didn’t feel the same way however, “No insults?” he asked.

“No.” Draco wasn’t rising to it. His freaking job was on the line here.

“Shame,” Potter sighed, “It would really feel like Hogwarts then.”

His hands tightened on his broom, Draco seeing a jerk from Potter’s way before he concentrated once more on the game.

A good thing too since Potter zoomed off a few moments later, Draco closing his eyes before following on. 

Idiot. 

He blocked Potter every chance he could, always one eye on the game and the other on the snitch. It was hard going, Potter really was a prodigy. But, he was used to school Quidditch, meaning he didn’t know the points to winning ratio. Draco did, and while he could have just let Potter go off and catch the snitch and tell everyone later he made a strategic decision that would have still ended up with his team winning, he didn’t. Like he said, his job was on the line here. 

So he blocked Potter. He damn well stalked him across the pitch, pulling up the idiots dives short and maybe attempting to lead him into a bludger. 

Only when Draco heard the fifty points for his own team be called off did he block Potter one more time and make his own go at the snitch. 

It was a little surreal what happened next. He honestly didn’t remember most of it now he was on the other end. All he knew was that he had a little golden ball fluttering in his palm and his team were cheering. Potter looked a little shocked too, the pair of them slowly landing.

Naturally Draco’s win wasn’t the talk of the day however. He won, but it was Potter’s flying that had drew everyone’s attention. “Those dives, those turns!” Peters gushed, leading Potter away with words like ‘contract’, and ‘after Hogwarts’ echoing back to him.

Draco’s back was slapped, the snitch falling from his hands. Ruby caught it, stuffing it next to the bludgers. “Nice flying,” she said. “Can’t believe you actually won.”

“Me neither,” he choked out. He’d always dreamed of it happening, but actually being on the reality side of things was rather unnerving. 

His hair got ruffled at one point, something that certainly wouldn’t have happened had he not been having an out of body experience. Regardless, his team was happy, and after almost breaking down in the showers Draco was sort of happy too.

He’d kept his pride. He’d shown he was good. If he was asked to leave then he was sure he could get a few good references from this job that he wasn’t trapped in the manor again. 

Everything would work out.

It had to.

He laced his boots up, stopping short when a pair of scuffed up trainers came into view. “Potter,” he mumbled, finishing his knot before looking up.

Potter, in all his windswept glory, nodded down at him, “Malfoy,” he greeted. 

Draco stood, he wouldn’t be quivering under Potter for this. Potter, for his part, shuffled back a few steps, his hands twitching against each other. “Wood’s somewhere over there if you’re looking for him,” Draco said, pretty sure he’d seen Wood dancing towards the showers as he fetched his shirt.

“Okay,” Potter nodded, still not moving. Then, “I er, actually wanted to talk to you. We didn’t really get a chance to at Christmas.”

Ah. “She’s my mother’s sister Potter. I can’t control where she goes or who she associates with. But I’ll endeavor to shun her calls if that’s what you want.” Merlin knows he’d be asking Potter to stay away if the tables were reversed. It would be alright if it were just Andromeda, but Teddy was involved now too.

Yet, “No. That’s not- I’m not here about that I just- are you okay?”

Draco tried to catch up with the conversation, but a lot had happened today. Enough that he didn’t quite understand Potter when “You’re asking if I’m okay?”

Potter swallowed visibly, “It’s just- I heard what some of the people were saying yesterday. Are you alright? They’re not bothering you are they?” any more than verbal jeering was Potter’s definition of that.

Draco couldn’t help rolling his eyes, “I’m used to their name calling, at this point it’s odd if they don’t. And no, they aren’t bothering me. I’m pretty sure they’re afraid I’m going to break into their houses and murder them if they dare to try.” Something he was hoping would hold long enough for this whole thing to blow over. Merlin help him if they actually discovered he was as helpless as a pygmy puff.

There was a snort, Potter’s lips upturned when Draco looked. “Okay,” he said.

“Is that all?” Draco asked, he wanted to get out of here before Peters called him aside for a talk. He could probably still come to work if he had plausible deniability on his side.

“Huh?” Potter blinked a few times before remembering, “Oh, right, yeah, you er, you flew good out there. Much better than at school.”

That Draco had to snort at, “That’s because I do this twenty four seven now. I’m sure you’d have broken out of any of those blocks had you received the same training.” Hell without it he was slippery. God help the team going against Potter in the coming years. “Some word of advice however, you’re supposed to wait for your team to get at least fifty points before making for the snitch. How many points you win by could be what helps you to victory or defeat.”

Potter nodded, “Thanks. But er, I don’t think Quidditch is in my future. It’s a good hobby but… yeah, not for me.”

“Right.” Looks like the rumours were true that he was going into the auror field then. Well, that was alright for Draco, it meant he could keep his job.

“And er, about Teddy?” Potter tacked on, “he really likes you. Andromeda’s always writing to tell me about your visits and… yeah I er, I wanted to thank you for doing that. I know it probably wasn’t easy for you.”

Draco reared, “Why?”

Potter blinked a few times at him before edging out, “Because of the whole werewolf thing-”

“Fuck that he’s two!” He wasn’t getting into this. Not with Potter. “I have to go,” before he did or said something that would definitely make him lose his job.

He fell into bed as soon as he got home, not even thinking about dinner until his mother knocked on his door asking if he was hungry. 

He wasn’t, and turned onto his other side before drifting off until morning. 


	4. Chapter 4

It took a few days, and a few matches, for Potter to be wiped from memory. He saw Teddy a few times in between that, Andromeda bringing him over for a few more babysitting nights. He was actually gearing himself up for another one of those nights when the door went a few hours earlier than usual. 

He lifted his head up from his mother’s bed, watching as she frowned. She wasn’t expecting anyone then.

Grabbing his wand, he told her to “Stay here,” as he ventured slowly down the stairs. 

Naturally she didn’t listen, and was almost right behind him as he opened the door to see none other than Andromeda on the other side. Andromeda, Teddy and three guests that had certainly not been on the invite list.

Mother pushed past him after the silence that should have been filled with pleasantries remained empty. “Well,” she said, plastering on that smile Draco had hated growing up, “no use standing out here now is it. Come in, come in, darling put the kettle on won’t you.”

She nudged him when he still didn’t move, Draco hesitating a moment long before stalking to the kitchen. It would be fine. Potter wouldn’t hurt his mother. Granger maybe, but Weasley was just as spineless as Potter. His mother would be fine. They had Teddy too, they wouldn’t hurt her in front of a child.

Still, he’d never made tea faster in his life, near running along the halls as he searched for where his mother might have taken their guests. Sometimes it sucked living in a house this big. 

He found them eventually, his mother and Andromeda standing to the side while the other four lounged on the floor, Teddy showing them all his favourite spots. “Tea?” Draco offered out, setting the tray down. He sort of wished he hadn’t when he straightened again, his hands feeling awkward without anything to do. He couldn’t just snatch Teddy either since he was monopolising everyone else’s attention.

Or he had been. “Thanks,” Potter said, stretching himself along to grab a cup. Idiot didn’t even wait to see if it were poisoned before taking a sip. How on earth he’d defeated the Dark Lord would continue to baffle Draco.

He stuffed his hands behind his back, digging his nails in as he wondered what now. What was Potter even doing here? What were any of them? 

“Draco for Merlin’s sake will you sit down, you look like you’re about to faint,” Andromeda told him.

He did after a moment, on the chair as far away from anyone he could get. Teddy seemed to notice him then, rolling onto his front and stumbling towards him with a big grin on his face, “Dwake,” he held his hands up.

“Yes, yes, hello,” he plopped Teddy next to him, “We saw each other last week remember. You threw up all over my dinner.” That had been a trying moment in his life. Especially because he’d been put off the rest of his dinner when the waiter had brought him a replacement. He was never one to pass up good food, not these days, so stuffing it down without being reminded of the former was definitely not his favourite experience..

Yet Teddy didn’t seem to think so, or even remember it as he shook his head with a long, “Noooo.”

“Yeees,” Draco parrotted back. He wasn’t going to lose an argument with a two year old. 

Teddy laughed, his hair turning white as he started on everything Draco had missed in the week since they’d last seen each other. There was quite a lot there. Enough to fill the time between whatever conversation his mother and Andromeda were having was over.

His mother disappeared, Andromeda next, this time taking Draco as she handed Teddy over to Potter. “I know this is a bit of a shock Draco.”

He snorted. A bit?

“Harry is Teddy’s godfather,” she reminded him, “And he’s just finished school. I honestly hadn’t thought about him turning up until he did, and when I said I was bringing him around here…” 

He understood. Really. “You could have let him babysit,” Draco mumbled. “I don’t mind.” There was still time for Andromeda to hand Teddy over to Potter.

This time Andromeda snorted, “No offence to him but I wouldn’t trust that boy alone with Teddy for a minute.”

He wasn’t exactly alone, Draco wanted to point out, but Andromeda’s raised brow told him not to argue.

“It’s just for tonight. They promised to behave as well. Don’t worry, I had a long talk with them before bringing them over.”

He shook his head, “You shouldn’t have.” Why they were here at all he didn’t understand. Why anyone would willingly come here he didn’t understand. 

“It’s just for tonight,” Andromeda repeated.

He wouldn’t fight her. It was her prerogative to bring whoever she wanted to look after Teddy around. So he didn’t say anything, and let himself be led back into a room with Potter, Granger and Weasley. 

Everything was alright for a while. Andromeda was one of those people who could just make other people want to talk, so after a few moments the parlour was filled with talk of Hogwarts and classes and everything Draco had missed out on. “There’s still houses but the common rooms don’t have passwords anymore so everyone was just going everywhere.” “I camped out in the Hufflepuff common room for ten days. I tell you they have it good there.” “The classes were a little monotonous but I suppose that’s what I signed up for.”

Then Draco’s mother came down in her nice clothes and off Andromeda went. Meaning Draco was on his own with these people. Teddy too, but he refused to lump his cousin in with those three. Blessed Teddy who thought adults were fun for all of half an hour before playing with his toy dragon.

He looked up exactly once and that was it. That was all it took for them to think they could ask him questions. Stupid ones too like, “Didn’t there used to be birds in your gardens?”

He stuffed his hands underneath his legs, “Listen Weasley, let’s not make this evening any harder than it has to be. I won’t talk to you, you don’t talk to me and we just look after Teddy. Okay?”

“I was just asking-”

“Well don’t.”

Weasley shared a look with the other two, “Alright then,” he agreed, then quietly, “Prick.”

Fine. He didn’t mind name calling. Didn’t mind it at all. It was better than conversation. Still, “Could you also watch your language?” he nodded to where Teddy was watching them with careful eyes. 

“You’re the one who’s coming off all aggressive,” Weasley snapped.

“Ron,” Granger hissed, whacking him in the chest lightly, she, at least, reading the room right. 

Potter cleared his throat, shuffling towards Teddy, “Why don’t you show me what you’re doing then?”

It became pretty clear why Andromeda didn’t want Potter, or any of them really, looking after Teddy on their own. Distantly Draco remembered Andromeda telling him Potter wasn’t very good with the whole nappies and feedings thing. Truthfully Potter wasn’t good with anything relating to Teddy.

It was pretty humbling watching all three of them try and navigate looking after a child. Even Weasley looked out of his depth, and he had more than enough infants running around his own house if word was to be believed.

He knew it wasn’t wholly their fault. Draco wasn’t exactly any good with kids either before Andromeda just thrust Teddy on him all of a sudden. Going off to Hogwarts wouldn’t have helped their case either. They just weren’t used to looking after a tiny inquisitive child. 

Still, Draco let them take the lead here. He wasn’t up for listening to them tell him off all night, which he was sure one of them was dying to do if he so much as tried to make any decisions concerning Teddy. He could see it in the way Weasley pointedly blocked him from reaching Teddy. Or Granger suggested everything in the book so they wouldn’t have to ask Draco.

It didn’t help that Teddy could smell weakness like a bacon sarnie. He was walking all over every single one of them before the night was through, conning Potter out of more than his usual share of sweets for one sitting. He made Granger believe his bedtime was at least an hour later than it usually was, and Weasley that he’d already had a bath that morning. 

It was rather impressive. Until it was just plain tiring and Draco really just wanted to go to bed. Only then did he hop up, taking Teddy out of Granger’s arms. “Right, bathtime then bed. No arguments.”

Teddy turned betrayed eyes on him, “But-”

“No buts,” Draco was holding firm on this. “You know as well as I do your nighttime routine now march mister.”

Teddy pouted up at him, as if testing to see if Draco would crack before stomping off towards the stairs, Draco right behind him. 

Teddy complained the entire time Draco got him ready for bed, and quite frankly Draco was regretting his decision to let the other three take the lead when he heard, “But Herma, let me,” in that weird way all two year olds did with a break every two words. 

“I don’t care what Herma said, I’m in charge and you know that,” hopefully. Otherwise this was going to be harder than it always was.

The bath was drawn quickly, Draco never liking to extend this part of the routine longer than it needed to be. Really if Andromeda knew just how short bathtime was Draco was sure she would actually start bathing Teddy on a morning. Still, he couldn’t help his dislike of this place. Of the drips he could hear from the tap, of the way he could hear people coming, his spine tensing until it was near painful as his brian immediately told him there was someone dangerous there not, “Hawwy! Hawwy tell Dwaco I stay up.”

“Don’t tell him anything,” Draco warned, wrestling one chubby arm into a nightshirt. The other followed after a moment, Draco hoisting Teddy up and never looking back as he walked them into his room. “You can have one story. One. And Herma can read it to you,” Since he certainly wasn’t taking that luxury away from them. “After that you go to sleep.”

“Two,” Teddy negotiated.

“One.”

“But,” he pushed his sheets down, Draco dragging them back up, “But I’m two. So two stories.”

“Two short ones or one long one,” Draco decided.

Teddy thought about it for a moment before nodding.

“He’s all yours,” Draco told them, shuffling onto his own bed to try and pretend there weren’t three complete strangers in his house. It should have been easy, he spent most of his time sharing a room with strangers at school, then again a few years ago. But maybe it was because he knew who these people were, what they brought wherever they went, that Draco just simply couldn’t relax. 

He ended up staying completely rigid all through Granger’s story of goats and bridges, all through Potter finally bucking up and telling Teddy it was bedtime. 

It was probably a good thing. If he’d been too relaxed he wouldn’t have remembered that the other three hadn’t been shown their rooms. Which reminded Draco, once Teddy had finally nodded off, Potter’s awkward quiet question of what now echoing in the room, that he hadn’t made any beds. Or had the keys to open those rooms.

Urgh.

He dragged himself up, scrubbing a hand through his hair, “Wait there and I’ll sort some rooms out.” Where did the house elves used to put the extra bedding? Draco knew where his own sheets were, he was the one washing them, but the others had to be around here somewhere. Right? 

“Actually,” Potter said, “I’ll just stay in here if it’s alright with you.” Quite frankly he was the only one not glaring at him right now. Daring him to say something different. To drag them away from Teddy. 

He suffered through a deep breath. This was his room. He wasn’t seriously going to let them kick him out of his own room. This was the only place he actually managed to sleep, save his mother’s nursery. He couldn’t just-

But he was going to, he realised, because Potter was Teddy’s Godfather. Potter was the one who could persuade Andromeda not to bring Teddy around anymore. That Potter was always available now that he was out of school. It was also three against one, and while Draco knew this was his house, he didn’t think that mattered all that much to them. . He was the interloper here. They were the ones who had made the effort to be here, he best not make it harder for them. So, “Fine.” It wasn’t like he had work tomorrow, he could catch up on sleep as soon as they left. “Do you want another blanket brought in at least?”

“Sure,” Potter said. Which meant Draco had to go find the keys.

By the time he climbed back up, broke into one of the other rooms and walked back to his own, a good hour had passed. The door was shut, Draco considering it a moment before dropping the blanket down and knocking. 

He left them to it, holing himself up in his mother’s rooms for a few hours. It got too much after a while however, the candles flickering down until the shadows grew larger and the creaks he knew were harmless in his own room more threatening. He ran as soon as something clattered against the window, searching for somewhere, anywhere, he could wait out the night. 

Everywhere was dark however. Unfamiliar. When it was familiar it raised the hairs on the back of his neck, his body telling him to run again, that something bad was coming. His chest constricted, his stomach heaving so much he scrambled for door after door until he came outside. 

It didn’t help, everything was too dark. Far too dark and he could hear- he could hear things he knew weren’t there but with his heart in his throat he thought maybe. Maybe it was possible. Maybe they were there. Waiting for him in the dark. A traitor. He was a traitor to them. He should be in Azkaban with them, maybe if he was they wouldn’t have come for him.

He heaved, his legs giving way and back hitting the front of the house. He slid down, forcing himself to just stop thinking. He just had to stop thinking. If he did it didn’t matter. It was going to happen anyway, may as well just…

It was a long night put it that way. 

He was still sitting on his porch when his mother and Andromeda came back, his nails bitten down and knees indented from clutching them all night. “Draco?” his mother called before hurrying those last few steps to him. “Are you alright? Has something happened?”

He shook his head, his heart having calmed itself around five minutes after the sun rose. He was just out here now because he didn’t want to go in and do nothing for a few hours. Not in there anyway. “Everything’s fine. How was your night?”

She gave him a look, both of them knowing she didn’t believe for a second everything was fine, but told him anyway about her and Andromeda trolling the muggle pubs until all hours of this morning. “You should get yourself out there sometime. Go have fun while you’re young.”

He shook his head. He wasn’t really feeling in the drinking mood these days. Worse, he feared if he started he might never stop. “Do you want some breakfast Andromeda before you go?”

Andromeda, looking far worse for wear than his mother said no. “I think it’s best I get Teddy home early. You know what happens when he stays the mornings.” He did, but Draco hardly thought Teddy running rampant around the halls because he didn’t want to go home was the reason she really wanted to go home early. Most likely it had something to do with the three interlopers sharing a bed in his room. 

Or, he thought they were sharing a bed. 

He suspected they were. After all, if rumour were to be true they’d been living out of a tent for the year they were off school. Muggle or wizard hadn’t been stated, and Draco would bet anything Weasley could come up with wouldn’t have enough space for the three of them to stretch out. 

Urgh, he wondered if they were like  _ together _ . Maybe he shouldn’t have left them with Teddy if that were the case. 

Regardless, Andromeda went in and fetched her four, Draco hiding himself away in the kitchen until his mother came down to tell him they’d gone. 

Good. 

He managed to catch up on his sleep enough that he was bright eyed for the next match he had. The Wasps had steadily matched their victories, meaning their bright colours were flashing wildly in front of his eyes as he tried to keep watch of the snitch. Wood had already been brought into play halfway through, catching whatever came his way and yelling less than nice things at at both his own and the other team.

Then it happened. One of the chasers was struck down, pushed off her broom by a Wasp. Draco heard Peters swearing left right and centre as they all watched the mediwitch take her off. “Right!” He stormed up, the game halted momentarily above them. “They aren’t playing fair so we won’t either. Malfoy, get in there and intimidate the fuck out of them would you.”

He- “But-”

“Now.”

Draco grabbed his broom, throwing himself onto the pitch. He felt more than heard the silence when it came. Just like that first time he played he could see the shock on people’s faces that the rumours were true and he wasn’t there just for show. Quite frankly Draco was shocked too, more because he was playing chaser than seeker. But, like Wood said, they had made sure he stayed versatile in training, so after the whistle blew, he put all thoughts of the snitch out of his mind and concentrated on the quaffle.

It was much harder playing chaser than seeker in an actual game. Mainly because while the Wasp’s chasers didn’t want to get near them, that didn’t stop them from telling the beaters to knock him off his broom. He dodged more bludgers than people as his own team took the advantage they had and sent him blocking key players.

He never scored a goal, but being a chaser definitely felt more involved than a seeker. Especially since he was the one who was usually sent to steal the quaffle from the other team. They were up by forty points when the game finally ended, everyone racing to Peters. “Just let them try and take our win this time,” Roberts cheered.

“Did you see their faces!”

Peters looked as happy as the rest of him. Even when he was called over by the ref and the Wasp’s manager he was beaming, the rest of them waiting with baited breath as Peters secured their victory. 

“They can’t take it off us,” Scott muttered. 

“They’re gonna try anyway,” Jones huffed, he, at least, a little worried about just how long Peters had been gone. 

Yet it was a win. After all that, and the Wasps did try their hardest to claim some sort of foul, Puddlemere won. Which meant a huge afterparty for more than just their victory.

“You know what this means,” Wood told him when Draco asked just why he was a cause for celebration.

“Not really.”

“It means we can use you now in actual games. If one ref lets you slide the others have to as well.” Wood clapped him on the shoulder.

The insinuation of that sunk in. It sort of explained a few things too. Namely why he’d been confined to the reserves box for nigh on almost a year when he was a versatile player and they really could have been using him before now. 

He didn’t let it get to his head however. Just because he could be used now didn’t mean he would be. 

Still, Draco had just participated in a winning game and he, for one, was feeling rather good about it. 

So was his mother when he finally caught up to her. It was the first game she’d actually managed to see him play, and showed him, afterwards, a photo she’d taken of him in action. “Have you just been carrying a camera with you this entire time?” he asked as he looked it over. It wasn’t a bad photo. It was sort of nice having actual proof in his hands too that he’d played. Still, how long had his mother been carrying a camera?

She waved him off, making him stand next to the stadium with his broom held up. “Smile and mean it sweetheart, this one’s for Andromeda.”

He rolled his eyes before doing as she asked, promising, again, now that the matches were getting more serious he’d get her some extra tickets for Andromeda again.

He was forced to witness the photo being handed over in person. She didn’t even warn him, just, next time Andromeda was visiting, thrust the photo out with, “Doesn’t he look so handsome in his little uniform.”

“Mother!” 

That was that. The rest of the evening passed in his mother telling Andromeda just how well he played. Then showing her the action shot she had of him. Then getting the baby photos out, then showing Teddy the baby photos and grabbing the camera so they could get some of Draco and Teddy together. For Teddy’s part he adored the camera. He was a needy two year old so Draco saw the appeal of having attention constantly on him. Still, Draco himself would have liked some warning. 

“At least let me put something more decent on,” he whined as she insisted on getting one of the four of them.

“Oh you look fine Draco,” she waved off, pushing him closer to Andromeda, “Now smile, I want this one framed if it comes out nice.” Which it would on her part anyway. She’d certainly dressed up for the occasion. Andromeda too now that he thought about it. 

Had they been planning this?

The evening passed a lot simpler after that. Talk of Quidditch died down to move onto other things. Like Potter. “He’s been coming around a lot more lately. Teddy’s rather pleased.”

Draco just bet he was. Potter was a pushover.

“He keeps asking after you Draco.”

“Me?” Surely not.

Andromeda nodded, “I think he’s a little jealous. Teddy’s always showing him his Quidditch strip.” Which was Puddlemere blue as it rightfully should be. 

Draco couldn’t help let his curiosity get the better of him. “What’s he been asking?” 

She shook her head, “Nothing too invasive. Just how you are. How your job’s going. How you are Cissy too. I think he’s a little lonely,” she tacked on. 

“Lonely?” Mother asked. 

Andromeda took Teddy’s dragon away before he could stuff it in his mouth. “You remember how it is after school Cissy. Everyone’s always busy. They’re moving, they’re dating, they’re getting new jobs. I don’t think many people have time for him anymore.”

His mother hummed, the room lapsing into silence.

Then, “Maybe you could invite him around here sometime Draco.”

“Here?” Me, he should have been asking, yet here was the word that slipped out. 

“Well you could always come to mine if you like,” Andromeda suggested. “It might be nice for the two of you to spend some time together.”

How to word this nicely, “Just because he’s nice to a lot of people doesn’t mean he’s nice to everyone.” he fell back to his slouch on the floor, “Besides, I’m one of the last people he’d ever want to see.” Or vice versa. 

“He keeps asking after you,” Andromeda reminded him. Draco had to force himself not to point out it was more likely Potter was checking up on him than asking after him. Once a death eater after all.

Talk turned to other things after that. Like Lucius’s recent attempt to get himself out of Azkaban.


	5. Chapter 5

Yet Potter, now he was out of school, turned out to be a conversation topic Draco simply couldn’t escape. If it wasn’t his aunt dropping hints it was his teammates talking about Potter. Apparently, despite telling Draco he wasn’t interested in his job, he’d been seen talking to a few Quidditch managers. Apparently a deal might be struck when tryouts started after the finals. Something Puddlemere wanted to get in on.

“I thought he wanted to be an auror,” Draco huffed, tossing the quaffle to Scott.

“He does,” Scott called back, zooming off between two beaters to try and score. They got it in, another ten points chiming from the sides.

“I heard he’s considering his options,” The chaser behind him said. “Something about a gap year. Trying everything.”

“Is this Potter?” Another called a few feet away. There must have been a nod behind Draco since, “Yeah, I heard he was considering joining a team for a while, seeing what the training regime was like before he committed.”

Draco wanted to bash his head against something. “Bit conceited don’t you think.” He saw the chaser behind him try and escape, kicking his leg out to get that little bit of extra distance between them. “I mean, no one else would be allowed to ‘see what training was like’ before signing.”

The chaser in front of him, wary, but looking less scared the longer he was in Draco’s presence, shrugged, “It’s Potter innit.”

It wasn’t fair what it was.

Puddlemere made it to the semi finals before losing out. Again. This time it wasn’t their fault. In fact, the whole thing was under investigation after the snitch flew into the other teams seeker just after being released. 

Regardless, they wouldn’t be in the final. Which meant Draco, once again, was made to listen to Peters ‘try again next time’ speech.

Things were a little tense after that. Namely because the swaps were already starting. Scott got signed on to play with the Arrows. Roberts outright quit for reasons unknown. One by one people were either fired, quit, or went to another team until it was only the ‘faithful few’ that were left. Draco amongst them.

He supposed this was why they had tryouts. 

Speaking of, it was a lot less daunting being on the other side of them now his position had been secured. In fact, “We’ll bump you up to seeker now Roberts is gone.”

Peters shrugged, “If we sign Potter we’ll talk about chaser, but we’ll see about changing your schedule for the time being.”

He wasn’t the only one being bumped up. Wood made keeper, and he wasn’t quiet about it. Draco had never seen a man as happy as Wood was when Peters pulled him aside to give him the good news. He was practically weeping by the end of it, Draco sniggering along with the rest of them as Peters told Wood to enjoy himself.

The tryouts themselves were scheduled just before the end of September. Something he told Andromeda to tell Potter if the rumours were true and he really was thinking about trying out. 

Not that it mattered to him. Either way Draco was now officially playing every game that came their way next season and he couldn’t be happier. His mother couldn’t be happier either, near screaming in a way she probably hadn’t since youth as she bundled him up in a hug. “I’m so proud of you!”

He patted her on the back, not entirely too sure what he was supposed to do here. “It’s only seeker for the time being.”

She drew back, “But you are playing permanently,” she told him, “You’re officially on the team darling, this- this is everything you’ve wanted.”

A grin crept onto his face, “I know.” It was. It was everything he’d wanted since he knew what Quidditch was. “They’re going to hate me,” he laughed, thinking about all the fans Puddlemere was about to lose now he was playing every game. He didn’t care however. 

His mother didn’t either, “They’ll deal with it. The world has to move on eventually.”

Just when that would be remained to be seen. 

They went out to celebrate. Naturally, since it was a big occasion, and his mother loved to show him off, she rang Andromeda up on that muggle telefono thing and told her to join them. Meaning, “Malfoy,” he was once more standing in front of Potter and his gang as Andromeda insisted on them trying this new muggle restaurant. 

“Weasley,” he nodded back, looking for his aunt. She hadn’t appeared to have come with the three of them.

“She’s running a bit late,” Granger said. “Teddy’s been a bit of a handful recently.”

That was news to him. His mother’s hand tightened on his arm as she said, “Children often are.” she tugged him a little closer to the door, “Why don’t we wait inside darling? You can buy me a drink.”

He sighed, almost rolling his eyes as he followed his mother inside, “Just because I’m legal in the muggle world does not mean I’m going to be buying you alcohol mother.” She seemed to enjoy not having to go to the bar now he was over eighteen. Said it saved her poor ankles from hurting. Really he just thought she thought he enjoyed the thrill of being able to buy alcohol. He couldn’t exactly do it in a wizarding bar. Not that he’d tried, but Draco was fairly sure no one would serve him. Worse, they’d probably hex him so badly he’d end up in Mungo’s before he even reached the bar itself. 

There was a reason he didn’t go out with the rest of his team.

“I’ll buy you a drink,” came from behind them, Potter and crew seeming to have taken his mother’s invitation to mean all of them wait inside. “What exactly do you like?”

Mother shot him a look before hesitantly turning to Potter again and rattling off her usual. They found a seat in the meantime, Draco horrified to see Granger near crammed in next to him on the round sofa.  The silence was stifling. Made worse, too, by the look he could feel Weasley giving him. 

Granger cleared her throat a few times, yet nothing came out. It wasn’t until Potter came back with a whole tray of drinks that any of them minutely relaxed. Draco thought it was the amount of hexes that had been fired at him through the years, that was what made Potter so at ease with awkwardness. He certainly had no problem asking after Draco’s mother, despite there being two other people he could have easily ignored Draco and his mother for until Andromeda arrived. Yet there he was, talking. Asking questions. Looking interested. 

Even, “Do you still talk to your husband?” like it was perfectly fine to ask after incarcerated Death Eaters.

Mother’s drink clinked onto the table in front of them. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “Not often. Things have been strained for years-”

Draco snorted, ignoring the nails she dug into his knee.

“-but none of that tonight. And certainly not with you young people.” Like Draco wasn’t acutely aware of every single fight they’d had in the manor and out. Still, dirty laundry and all that. “Darling are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink.”

He closed his eyes, “Fairly mother.” Although anymore talk about his father and he might reconsider. 

Thankfully, Andromeda showed up before another topic could be brought to life, Teddy dangling from her arms and looking most put out. Up until he saw his audience that was. After that he was squirming to be put down, running over to them as Andromeda sorted their booking out. 

Teddy was passed around like a parcel before landing in Draco’s lap. He happily smushed a kiss on Draco’s cheek that stayed wet for far longer than Draco was comfortable with as he started babbling about his day. There were even some words thrown in there that he understood, even if, to Teddy, one word could have a variety of different meanings. He was still learning after all, which meant that when Teddy said shoe, he could be telling Draco to look at his shiny shoes, or he could be commenting about the weather. Who knew. It was all disjointed without the context of tone. Still, he tried to keep up as best he could, glad he had someone to distract him from whatever had possessed Andromeda to think it was a good idea to invite Potter and his friends to a celebratory dinner in honour of Draco.

“Draco?”

He hummed, finding where the conversation had drifted to, “Oh, right, yes, Peters told me to tell you that if you want to try out for Seeker to come on the twenty seventh. That’s when all the others will be coming.” So no special treatment on that front. 

Potter looked a little taken back, “Right.”

“What? You didn’t think you’d have to try out?” Draco honestly hadn’t either, but, well, here they were.

“Draco,” His mother hissed anyway, like he hadn’t just stated the obvious.

Potter didn’t seem to care either way. “Well no. I just, I didn’t think tryouts were that soon.”

“Puddlemere’s one of the later ones. I was at tryouts since the beginning of June when I was starting.” Training long before that too. There was little else to do on house arrest after all. 

“June?”

“Guess that means the Cannons are out,” Weasley muttered.

He held his tongue on the Cannons actually holding theirs September eighth, which honestly wasn’t that bad considering it was still the beginning of August. Instead, “You know you don’t have to go right?”

“Draco,” his mother hissed again.

“What? He doesn’t. In fact don’t. If you don’t show up I get to stay seeker next season.”

“Draco,” his mother warned again.

“What? That’s why we’re here. Forgive me for wanting to keep the position we’re actually celebrating me landing right now.” The drills were less intense for seeker too. Well, physically anyway. Mentally they were even more exhausting than a chasers. 

He could feel the glares coming not just from his mother. Andromeda didn’t appear to care, but Weasley was certainly serving him some looks. He didn’t mind, he’d delivered his message and had Teddy telling him all about how good his mashed potato was right afterwards so attention didn’t stay on him for too long. 

His mother didn’t forget his words however, cornering him just as they got in the door. “Perhaps next time you could try and work on your tone.” Since his words might not have been the worst thing to come out of his mouth, but the tone wasn’t exactly friendly. “I know this wasn’t what you had in mind, and I didn’t know she was going to invite them, but you know they’re a part of her life Draco. You’re going to have to make an effort at some point.”

He knew that. 

She took his hand, “Draco, I know things aren’t easy, and I know you don’t like them. But the world isn’t what it used to be. We got lucky. We got very lucky.”

“I know.” He did. He really did know.

“Potter might be trying out for Quidditch right now, but we both know there are rumours about him becoming an Auror. Our house gets raided every four months, do you honestly want to make it more?”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He understood what she was saying. “It’s just hard.”

“I know,” she hugged him, and she, he knew, probably was the only person who did know how hard it was for him. How hard it was to be nice to these people because it wasn’t as simple as plastering on a smile and being welcoming. There was a reason he and his mother didn’t interact with the wizarding world more than they needed to. The damage had been done. For as long as there would be a Malfoy, now, they’d never be welcome. His name was on a list that would go down for some of the vilest things to ever take place in modern wizarding history, and nothing, no nice words, no smile, would change what he’d done, what these people saw him as. He knew they didn’t want to see him as anything else either.

He certainly wouldn’t if he was in their shoes.

“I’m going to bed,” he sighed, hanging his coat up. 

Work was slow after that night. There was nothing really to do until tryouts. Nothing except watch the other teams sort out their line up. They still did their drills, but they weren’t as intense as they usually were. Except Wood’s. He seemed to take it upon himself to push himself further than he had before, making sure he was in tip top condition for anything the Quidditch world could throw at him. It was like he was expecting some sort of life or death Quidditch situation to pop up at any minute. 

Lunatic.

When the tryouts did come around, Draco found himself a nice little bench to doze on as one by one people filed in to hopefully add their name to Puddlemere’s roster. Wood was near vibrating with excitement as he sat on the bench behind Draco’s, blocking the worst of the sun so he wouldn’t burn. “Don’t know him,” he’d mutter sometimes, “Know her,” others, “oh she’s good with a bat I think.” Then, like Draco couldn’t feel the exact minute Potter walked in, “Oi Harry!” Wood screeched, his hand waving frantically in the air. 

“You’re not supposed to show favouritism,” Draco told him.

“I’m not,” Wood grinned, sitting back down, “I’m just saying hello.”

Draco sighed, napping his way through the mock game Peters set up. He had to say, while he was missing actually doing something, he wasn’t too mad being paid to nap around. Not to mention he actually managed to nap too. He put it down to the noise. At the manor it was just so… quiet. Here, with Wood literally screaming at Potter’s performance, he knew he wasn’t alone. In a good way.

“Did he get it?” Draco yawned later when Wood finally woke him. The pitch was empty, the new recruits being given a tour of the stadium they would be training with this next season.

“Course he did,” Wood laughed, helping Draco up. “Which means you’ve been bumped up to chaser. Which means we are definitely going to win this season because everyone still wets themselves when you’re around.”

Joy.

His mother wasn’t too downtrodden when he came home with news he’d been usurped as seeker. “We knew this was coming,” She told him, poking at her soggy mash. “And at least you’re both on the same team this time. Your friend is probably right, you’re looking at a winning season this year.”

He hummed, leaving it at that as he forced down his supper.

Monday came sooner than he would have liked. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, that nap on Friday upsetting his sleep schedule enough that he was yawning his way onto the pitch. He stretched his arms over his head, trying to wake himself up as he heard Peters start on his opening speech to the new recruits. All that stuff about working hard and endurance and that they’d all signed a contract now so there would be no crying about sore muscles or hangovers. They were here, this was work, they were to be professional, etcetera, etcetera.

He reached his toes just as the good part about drug tests and wand confiscation before matches came about, noting more than a few terrified faces at that last part. “But,” he heard one of them hiss, “What if- I mean,  _ he’s _ on our team. What if he does something?”

Peters didn’t even try and keep his voice down as he replied, “Malfoy’s wand will be with everyone else’s. If you still have a problem with it I suggest quitting now since Malfoy certainly won’t be.”

Draco rolled his eyes, wandering off to where the rest of the chasers were. While the others would be given more speeches, some warm ups and some more speeches after that, the rest of them knew the drill. Warm up, start their rounds and enjoy the lack of Peters attention while they still could. Merlin knows they’d have him shouting at them enough tomorrow.

Only one of the chasers were here from last season, the others had quit or been swapped. Draco did a mental count in his head, glad to see there were enough of them here to mean the newbies were on the sides this season. Good. These people were used to playing with him. They wouldn’t flinch every time he threw the quaffle. Well, they wouldn’t after a few games that was. 

The beaters were reserves from last season, another good thing. That meant he didn’t have to worry about his head being taken off by a bludger from his own team mid game. Since Wood was keeper and Potter seeker this was turning out to be a good line up indeed.

It was an easy morning therefore. They could almost have a full game as well before lunch, everyone splitting off to find their friends, or make nice with the newbies. Draco just found a nice spot to catch five minutes under.

He woke when someone wasn’t too quiet in picking their way over to him, not all too surprised to see Potter’s stupid glasses glinting in the sunlight, near blinding him. Draco tried turning on his side, “Lost?” The glare wasn’t too bad here, even if it didn’t drown out the noise as well as the visual.

“No,” there was a scuff as Potter sat. “Just thought I’d sit down.”

“And there weren’t other places?” Draco had chosen a place near the top of the stadium for a reason. More importantly, “Aren’t you going to lunch?”

“Brought my own,” was the response. 

“Still,” he was sure there were other people who’d brought their own lunches too. People waiting for the chance to sit next to Potter like it was their life dream.

“You have a problem with me sitting here?” Potter asked, finally a hint of something in his tone.

“I came up here for a nap, not to socialise. So yes, I do have a problem.” It looked like he wasn’t going to even get that nap now. Probably for the best, if he slept now he’d have a hard time doing it again later. So he pushed himself up, shuffling around until he could swing his legs under the bench. 

He fully expected more antagonising after that. Maybe Potter trying to be nice again. Instead he was greeted with silence. So much so he actually could have gotten a nap in before lunch ended. He knew he was kicking himself when Peters finally called them all back down, all those minutes wasted waiting for Potter to speak gone now.

Still, he slept that night at least. Not a lot. But enough that he wasn’t completely useless when Peters started coordinating everyone into their drills for the season. He still tried to have a few minutes rest when lunch came around, hiding in the shadier part of the stadium now the sun was blaring like it always seemed to do at the end of September. 

Yet, again, he was found, and again Potter said nothing, just ate his lunch quietly next to him.

It was getting a bit suspicious come the third day. By the fourth, Draco just ignored him and snoozed for a good ten minutes. The fifth, well, maybe it was the fact that he had two full days trapped in the manor ahead of him but Draco was in a bit of a foul mood. So much so that, “Okay, that’s it, why are you sitting with me? There are ten people, right now, that I can see desperate to have lunch with you. Hell, Wood’s been practically propositioning you since Monday. Stop babysitting the Death Eater and go enjoy yourself Potter.” and leave him to his solitude once more.

Potter set his sandwich down, Draco bracing himself for a fight, yet after a moment Potter did what Draco had asked him to do. He got up, he went down, and he had lunch with other people.

He fell back to the bench, wondering if it was always that easy to tell Potter to go away. It probably had been. Save that one time in sixth year, Draco sort of remembers he being the one that wouldn’t leave Potter alone. Hmmm.

The rest of the day passed as it usually did, Draco picking his broom up at the end of it wondering what he was going to do tomorrow. He ignored Wood asking him if he wanted to get a drink, it was all politeness anyway at this point, everyone knew Draco wasn’t one for going out. Maybe he could take up painting. 

He didn’t take up painting. Instead he ended up crying in the kitchen for half an hour when he accidentally stumbled into one of the boarded up ballrooms. That, the nightmares that came from that and the fact he couldn’t take a bath without his chest feeling like it was going to explode meant he was in a sour mood come Monday.

Thankfully work meant being outside of the manor. Up in the air where all his problems boiled down to passing the quaffle to someone else to score a goal. Simple. Easy. With the sun beating down on his face it was hard to think of anything else but work, and Draco’s work was nothing if not fun in some sense so he soon pushed his bad weekend behind him.

At least until lunch when Potter crept up on him again. He didn’t even bother to hide his groan, turning his back to his interloper and forcing the sun to do its work and lull him into sleep for a few minutes. 

Then Potter cleared his throat. Not in the something stuck in it way either. The deliberate way that meant they were gearing up to speak.

Sure enough, “I er, meant to ask, how do you deal with the aches? Hermione said cream but I figured you’d know best since you’ve actually been dealing with them for a year now.”

Aches? He glanced at Potter over his shoulder. Were they really having this conversation right now. “Just fucking stretch Potter, it’s not that hard.” Draco certainly stretched. His baths were getting fewer and far between which meant he had to look to other methods. 

“Stretching,” Potter nodded like it was a revelation to him. Had they not stretched at school? Draco had met Wood, he knew that man certainly did. Yet, “Wh- what er, what sort of stretching would that be?”

Draco thumped his head back on his arms. He wasn’t doing this anymore. Potter didn’t ask again thankfully too.

Yet the next day, “I think Peters is taking it easy on me. Did he speak to you like that when you first joined up?”

‘That’ being the way Peters gently coaxed Potter into a different maneuver instead of yelling a name at him and expecting him to automatically know what he was talking about. Draco had spent more time researching moves his first few weeks than he had sleeping, and he had slept a lot last year. “No.”

“I knew it,” Potter muttered. “Do you think I should say something?”

Honestly? Potter had it pretty good right now. If Draco were him he wouldn’t say a thing. Potter was about the only newbie so far, after all, that hadn’t wandered into the changing rooms to cry because it was ‘too hard’. Well, Draco hadn’t too, but that was because he had more to lose if he ended up crying in the changing rooms. Still, he didn’t say anything. If Potter wanted to be treated like everyone else, let him. Draco didn’t care, he was used to it by now, and Peters yelling was more like a soothing white noise to his ears than anything else.

Potter must have said something however, since Peters did start treating Potter like the others. In a weird way. He yelled, but it was more along the lines of, ‘maybe you could blah blah blah!’ ‘careful now blah blah blah’ ‘go right next time if it feels right blah blah blah’. So still coaxing, just, weirdly.

Potter had noticed it too since their lunchtime meetings had went from tentative comments to full blown rants by that next Friday. “I knew this would happen,” Potter grumbled, “This is exactly why I didn’t think Quidditch was a good idea. Not that the aurors would be any better. Urgh it’s like they think I’m a child or, well, not a child since they’d probably still yell at a child. But, definitely something.”

Draco was starting to understand why the Dark Lord had wanted to kill Potter so much. He’d forgotten, in his days without Potter in his life, just how annoying the other boy could be. Screw what his mother said, he’d been right as a child, Potter was an idiot, and a bloody gobby one at that. “Do you ever shut up?” 

Just to prove that he didn’t Potter muttered, “Yes.”

Draco felt like slapping him, “Oh poor you. Poor perfect Potter being given special treatment. You should be thankful, you’re the only one who’s being given actual attention. Good attention at that. But,” he sat up, “If you’re really all that upset about it, give it until the first game. I’m sure once he sees you play for real he’ll treat you like the rest of us.” 

Potter looked ready to blow, yet all that came out was one long breath, Potter’s brows drawing together as he asked, “You really think so?”

“Urgh!” he fell back, covering his eyes and praying for lunch to be over.

Their first game came on the tail end of October. Draco didn’t think that was nearly enough time to train newbies but, well, he’d been one last year and he was sufficiently trained. Or he thought he was. Besides, most of them were playing reserves.

It was a little different being introduced along with the rest of his team. He’d played proper games before now, sure, but not from the beginning. He hadn’t had to sit and wait around for the rules to be spoken, for the hype to build. Usually he was talking with Wood on the sides right now, the pair of them sizing up the opposing team in between tidbits about their weekend. He was a little jittery.

He wasn’t the only one. 

While Draco had a lifetime of pushing his nerves to the side, of hiding them so his father wouldn’t cane his shaking hands, the other team hadn’t. Draco could see them side eyeing him, just like his own teammates from the side had done since they’d been signed. They were scared of him, probably always would be, and while that might bother him down the line Draco actually appreciated that fear. It made it easier to win when no one was standing in his way.

The whistle blew and their victory was quite possibly the easiest they’d had to date. Mainly because Potter still didn’t understand the points system in the league yet and caught the snitch ten minutes in. Draco had to wonder if it was on purpose as, after they’d all shaken hands and posed for the paper Peters, indeed, did what Draco had promised and started on a full hour long rant about just why they couldn’t be catching the snitch “Ten bloody minutes into the game Potter!”

On purpose or not, Draco hid a smile as he changed out of his robes. It wasn’t like it was the worst victory they’d had. Since this was their first game they didn’t, necessarily, need points to get them up the table. But next time they would, so, far be it for Draco to stop Peters from educating Potter.

Draco’s fan club was waiting just outside the changing rooms as they usually were, Teddy running into his legs with blue facepaint smudged everywhere. “We won!” he was even wearing a Puddlemere strip.

“We did,” Draco hoisted him up, taking him back to Andromeda. “I take it you’re here for Potter,” he spied Granger and, Merlin, the whole Weasley clan coming over too. “He might be a while, Peters is having a go at him.”

Andromeda rolled her eyes, taking Teddy off him. “You don’t mind do you?” she asked.

Draco shook his head. “It’s his first game.” Besides, he had a feeling if Andromeda did go out with him and mother, Potter and his friends would join them too. One or two of them he could stomach, but all of them? No chance. He turned back to Teddy, “Who’s your favourite player?”

“You,” Teddy cheered.

He grinned, wiggling Teddy’s cheeks, “Keep it that way.” He wasn’t going to be outflown by Potter. Not yet anyway.

Teddy’s giggles followed him all the way to the apparation point. That and the glares he could feel coming from the army of redheads he knew hadn’t ignored his passing. He wondered, for a moment, what they thought about Potter playing on the same team as a Death Eater. 

Then realised he didn’t care and focused instead on the burger in front of him. 

Practice after their victory was spent with Potter stealing the attention as usual. Only this time Peters didn’t hold back his criticism, near screaming when Potter put so much as a toe out of place. He really was making sure they were getting those points next time. 

Draco didn’t care. More attention on Potter meant less on him, which meant he could do his drills, get more familiar with these new teammates, in peace. Yet lunch had to come at some point and still Potter didn’t take the hint and join Wood in trying that muggle place he frequented daily. 

Potter looked happier today, which was something Draco supposed since it meant he kept his mouth shut through lunch. That also could have been because Potter fell asleep at some point too, Draco waking when Potter slumped so far over his head hit Draco’s ass. The jolt meant neither of them looked at each other the rest of the afternoon.

Truthfully Draco was hoping that incident would stave off Potter finding him the rest of the week. No such luck. Again and again Potter would find him at lunch, the pair of them snoozing the minutes away until they were called down to play again. It was probably the most civil they’d ever been to each other.

“You’re coming to the afterparty this time right?” Wood asked as they waited for the announcer calling them. 

Potter pursed his lips, “Dunno. I think Molly’s here again and I don’t really want to just tell her to go, you know.”

Wood nodded, “Next time then. Draco?”

“I don’t drink,” he reminded Wood.

Still, “You don’t have to drink, just come and have a good time.”

“No. Thank you.” 

Wood rolled his eyes, “Are we really that bad company? I thought you liked me at least.”

“I do,” Draco found himself admitting. “But if I go, I’ll be tempted to drink, and I don’t need an alcohol addiction. Malfoy manor’s terrifying enough without adding an outside substance.” 

Wood’s hands twisted on his broom, “Didn’t think of that.”

“It’s fine.” He doubted a lot of people thought about those who’d been pardoned. Why would they care about what they had been left behind with, they were the bad guys after all. “But if we ever have a team dinner I’ll come to that. It’s a chore making my own meals these days.”

Wood laughed, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Draco felt eyes on him, and glanced to the side to see Potter giving him an odd look. “What?”

The announcer started before Potter could reply, all of them taking their brooms and striding into the stadium.

They won, since of course they did they had Potter with them now. The point was that they won by a lot, and Draco even managed to score a goal. Something he was infinitely proud of as he raced to change. 

His mother beat him to it when he got outside, “You scored!” hugging him tight. “You did it, you actually scored.” 

He hadn’t been this happy since he caught his first snitch last year. “I did.” He felt like a real Quidditch player. Obviously he was one, but it was still a little surreal sometimes. 

Things got even better when Andromeda and Teddy didn’t ditch him for Potter. The four of them went out to an upscale muggle restaurant, a grin stretching Draco’s face the entire night.

As did listening to Potter’s awful afterparty the next morning. Apparently his victory had been cut short when Weasley and Granger got engaged. “I mean I’m happy for them,” he heard Potter say to Wood, sounding anything but happy, “but they just- they’re always all over each other, you know. It’s like I don’t see them anymore because when I do see them they’re talking with each other instead of me and,” he sighed.

“Yeah,” Wood agreed, “but that’s what happens when you grow up. Besides,” he knocked Potter’s shoulder, “I’m sure you and Ginny are just as bad.”

Draco went to warm up before he heard anything more. The last thing he needed was visuals.

Thankfully Potter didn’t lament Granger and Weasley’s engagement to him at lunch. Instead they both had their respected naps and got on with the day. Just how it should be. Well, if Potter could find somewhere else to sleep then it would be how it should be. But Draco would take what he could get for now.


	6. Chapter 6

While Potter was quiet on the engagement, the rest of the world wasn’t. While Draco liked to live in a bubble of solitude from the Wizarding world, he did still hear news every now and then. Namely he heard it from his teammates who talked and asked questions about Potter and his friends near constantly. If not them, then Draco heard it from his mother, who sometimes still read the papers when she was feeling especially brave. Or Andromeda who, like tonight, had brought Teddy over for a sleepover.

“No Potter this time?” Draco asked, eagerly getting his hands on Teddy. He had a full evening planned of fun activities after he’d found a few muggle board games on his way home from work.

“Harry’s coming by a little later,” Andromeda said, “Ron and Hermione are telling Hermione’s parents about the engagement, you have heard about it haven’t you?”

“Can’t escape it,” apparently.

Andromeda nodded, “They’ll be there a little while longer before coming here.”

Wonderful. 

He plastered a smile on his face anyway, promising that everything was fine as he took Teddy over to where Draco had set the games out. His mother left with a kiss on his head and a warning to be nice when Potter came around. Draco promised as best he could, but the last time Potter had stayed over was still strong in his memory. He wouldn’t let them push him out of his room tonight. He’d just… he’d just set Teddy up with them instead. 

Easy.

Draco was used to the silence anyway. Well, when he didn’t have an owl trying to break into his room that was. 

He was fixing them both something to eat when the door went. A novel concept since the door didn’t go. Not after dark. It took a few moments for Draco to remember Teddy wasn’t the only person coming around that night. Even longer for Draco to convince himself to move. Still he made Teddy hide behind a chair as he slowly opened the door.

His heart was still pounding even after his brain registered Potter. Imperious came to mind. Or polyjuice. Anything could have someone else behind Potter being here. 

“Malfoy?” Potter asked.

He closed his eyes, forcing those thoughts back, “Right. Come in I guess.” 

Teddy had heard the voice, and caught Potter before he was fully through the door. Potter lifted Teddy up with more ease than he had that first time, he must have been around Andromeda’s a lot. 

“Same set up as last time then?” came behind him, Weasley closing the door to the manor without a care as to how old those hinges were.

“Please.” He didn’t want to make nice if he didn’t have to. “If you know where the parlour is that’s where I’ve set him up. If not, I suppose you can stay here while I finish making my supper.”

“What are we having?” Potter asked, trying to grab his glasses back from Teddy.

“ _ I  _ am having toast,” since that was definitely something he couldn’t burn. “Teddy’s already had his supper.”

He could feel the eyes rolling at the back of his head as he went off towards the kitchens. He’d actually need to make up a bed this time. He hated making beds.

Potter and company were gone by the time he came back up, but they weren’t in the parlour when Draco checked. He told his heart to calm itself down as he went off looking for them, figuring Teddy had probably taken them on a tour of the manor. He loved giving tours. That was all. Nothing else. Draco would have known if someone had broken in. There were wards mother had keyed in. The floors didn’t muffle noise either. He’d know if something was wrong. 

It still didn’t stop him from getting a little frantic the more minutes that went by and he couldn’t find them. 

He went back downstairs, slowing his breaths down so he could actually listen as he gave up and called, “Potter?” the walls echoing his voice enough it was heard in all corners.

“In here,” was the call back, then, “Sorry,” as Draco followed the echo to where it was loudest.

“Don’t apologise to him,” he heard Weasley say as he drew nearer. “Merlin’s sake Harry we’re not doing anything wrong.”

They were in his room, of all places, and really Draco should have thought to come here first since, as Potter told him, “Sorry,” again, much to Weasley’s chagrin, “Teddy wanted to show us-” Potter motioned to where Teddy was investigating Draco’s wardrobe. “Something I guess.”

Draco sighed, pushing past the crowd to grab the little monster rooting through his clothes, “I told you Teddy, I’ll buy you dragon socks of your own when you can fit into them. Now out Mister.”

“Socks” Teddy insisted, coming out with at least one pair of them.

Draco let him keep them, he’d lose interest in a while anyway. Not before he’d tried stuffing them on his own feet and tripping up to where his bed usually sat. He noticed it wasn’t there after another fall, waving his hands around like it would magically appear before blinking over at Draco.

“You’re staying with Harry tonight,” Draco told him, since he doubted Teddy knew Potter by his last name. It was a little weird saying it. Off.. “In the other room. The room you’re actually supposed to use.” 

Maybe if he’d actually been strong he wouldn’t have caved that first night and found himself here all these months later with Teddy insisting, “No. This is my room.”

“This is  _ my _ room,” Draco corrected. “And you, mister, are an interloper who I let stay here when we don’t have other people who want to sleep over.” he grabbed Teddy from under his arms, “Now come on, I’ll let you keep the socks on while we finish mouse trap.” A game Draco was determined to win even if that blasted trap hated him.

“My room,” Teddy insisted the whole walk down. “Is my room.” He was going to have hell on when it actually came to bed.

After losing mouse trap, again, Potter took over as he rightfully should for interrupting their evening again. Him and Weasley played some sort of adventure game for a few hours until it got dark, and after proving they weren’t as incompetent as last time it turned out Draco didn’t need to argue, again, that Teddy had to stay in a different room. Granger had that all sorted for him, near boring poor Teddy to death until he was so tired he didn’t care where he was so long as he could sleep.

Draco finished making the bed, shoving one last blanket on as he made it clear that, “You’ll be in here tonight. The bathroom’s through there, I’ll see you in the morning.”

The voices started up as soon as he closed their door, and Draco didn’t need to be a genius to know they were talking about him.

He ignored them, flopping on his own bed and ignoring the fact that, again, there were strangers in his house. He didn’t sleep a lot. 

When they finally left he didn’t sleep either, as was his life. Which meant he was still stuck depending on his lunchtime nap to stop him from going insane. A nap which, somehow, was thwarted that Monday morning by Potter opening his damn mouth. “I didn’t know that was your room.” There was a rustle then, “Why didn’t you say anything that first night?”

“Wasn’t worth the headache. Are we done? I’m tired Potter.” and his mother appeared to be spending less and less time in the manor these days. Always flitting off with Andromeda, meaning Draco was often alone in the evenings.

There was a beat of silence, then, “I just, it doesn’t look like your room.”

“You’ve never been in my room before, how on earth would you know what it was supposed to look like?” It wasn’t like Potter had broken into his dorm at Hogwarts. At least he hoped not. He wouldn’t put it past Potter to have spied on him in his own dorm that sixth year. 

“I guess that’s true,” Potter agreed. “I dunno,” he sighed, “I just, the one we stayed in on Saturday was bigger. Had a bathroom too. Yours didn’t.”

“Believe me, I’m acutely aware of that.” He still, even after two years, couldn’t go across the hall to pee in the middle of the night. Either he went before bed or waited until morning. If his younger self could see him now he’d call Draco pathetic. Sometimes Draco called himself it when he’d had a bit too much water before bed. 

“It’s a nice room,” Potter offered after a while. “Very tidy.”

“Not all of us are slobs.” without a house elf picking up after him as well Draco had taken great pains to keep his room, and the rest of the manor, clean.

“Are you saying I am?” Potter challenged.

Draco glanced Potter’s way, “I’m just judging it off your general appearance. You’re an adult Potter, surely you know there are things to help you look nice.” 

A bit of colour came into Potter’s cheeks. “Forgot how much of a git you can be.”

“I’m merely stating the obvious.” He wasn’t all bad. He didn’t smell at least. Well, not at lunch anyway. After a full day on the pitch however even Draco gave off a wift of something. “And I don’t know what you expected sitting here. We’ve never been friends Potter. Just because we’re playing for the same team does not mean that’s going to change.”

“I know that,” Potter huffed, an edge of frustration seeping into his tone. “I just thought-” He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment before he tried again, “I thought for Teddy’s sake we could at least try to get along.”

Which was a fair point. Draco had hated when his parents fought when he was younger. Potter and he were in it for the long haul too. That was if the Ministry didn’t decide they’d made a mistake and come arrest him. He wouldn’t put it past them. “I’m civil to you when he’s around aren’t I?”

Potter snorted, “I’d hardly call that civil. And you practically bite Ron’s head off.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t invite yourself along to things I wouldn’t.” Oof, looks like he was a little more sore about that then he thought.

Potter looked a little taken aback too. “Andromeda invites us.”

Draco had to stop himself from laughing at that. “I’m sure. So it was Andromeda’s idea to invite you along when I had Teddy that first time? You weren’t checking to make sure I wasn’t hurting him? Protecting him from the Death Eater he got saddled with as a cousin?”

Potter’s mouth flapped for a moment, no reply coming out.

“Knew it,” he flopped back down. “You can dress up your idea of friendship as much as you like Potter, but both you and I know that you’re only saying it because you want to keep an eye on me. You never cared in school, and you don’t now, so please, just leave me alone.”

Potter didn’t. Either because he was as stubborn as Draco, or there was no one else around for him to gravitate towards but he stayed there the whole of lunch, stewing quietly in the same spot he always sat.

The next day found Potter back again, and no less loud than he had been yesterday. “You’re right,” he said, which, okay, Draco was interested in hearing. Especially if it was Potter saying it. “I didn’t care in school about you.”

“No, you didn’t.” 

“But in my defence you were the worst,” Potter said, and while his tone was light, his words were not.

“You weren’t exactly the best either.”

“You’re the one who started all those fights though,” Potter pointed out.

“And you’re the one who could have easily walked away. Besides, you didn’t grow up like I did.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” 

Loathe as Draco wanted to admit it, he’d had time to think these past few years and, well, “Did you ever think that maybe I was just saying what everyone else was. I know it doesn’t excuse me, okay, I do, but you weren’t brought up like me-”

“No,” Potter agreed, “I was brought up by muggles who thought locking me in a cupboard was a good way to pretend I didn’t exist. Yet you don’t see me going around calling people mudbloods.”

He felt himself pausing, and while he would have liked to continue down that road Potter had opened up he had a point to make, one which was easily introduced with, “Well did you like them?”

“Like who?”

“Those muggles? Did you like them? I know they were your family and love is love and all that, but did you like them Potter?” 

Potter floundered for a moment before admitting, “Well no but-”

“I loved my father. I loved my family. On the days he was nice, he was the best man I’d ever met. I would have done anything for him. I did do anything for him. It’s not like I would have learned any different at school either. My friends were all the same, we’d all been brought up with the same values. And no one from the other houses would talk to us. As soon as you branded us evil no one wanted anything to do with us.”

“I didn’t brand you as-”

“Please,” Draco scoffed, “Don’t think no one hears you when you speak Potter. ‘Oh a Slytherin, he’s definitely going to be a dark wizard when he grows up’. ‘I’d rather have my arm cut off than talk to one of those snakes’.” Then there were the other things. “Everything I ever did as well, you just, you obviously thought there was something else behind it. I made the Quidditch team on my own merit you know. I can fly Potter. Have done since I was a child. I made that team and my mother, not my father, she was the one who told him to buy those brooms because she loves Quidditch, and she wanted us to have a good season. But no. Obviously I had to have bought my way in because no second year could possibly be so talented that they’re able to make the Quidditch team.” he raked his hands through his hair, “My exams I did well in. But did anyone care? No, because Granger got the best scores, and of course anything she did was newsworthy. Father didn’t care after that, why would he when a muggleborn witch got top of the class.”

His hands shook when he grabbed the bench underneath him. But he felt good, finally letting it all out. 

“I’m not saying I didn’t have a good childhood,” Draco continued, “I did. I know okay.” He had money and everything that came with it. “I’m just saying that maybe not everything is as one sided as you think it is.”

Potter mirrored him, slumping over until his elbows were on his knees. “It feels like it is.”

“Course it does, you can’t exactly read my mind can you?” At least, he didn’t think Potter could. 

“I’m sorry,” Potter said after a while. “About the Quidditch thing. I know you can fly. Knew it the second we played in second year actually.” Sure, Draco might have been a little distracted, but he’d almost beat Potter to the snitch. “But you were a dick.”

“I’m not saying I wasn’t.” He could admit he was. “You were too though. And,” he couldn’t believe he was saying this but he’d honestly been spending too much time around Andromeda, “Maybe that’s not entirely our fault. Some people just don’t get along and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Clashing personalities and all that. Andromeda said there might never be hope for them. Yet still she trusted Draco.

“Maybe,” Potter agreed. 

They watched everyone filter back onto the pitch in silence.

The next day Potter tried again, determined, for some reason, to stop Draco from getting any sleep at all. “Why do you stay up here every lunch?”

“Because it’s easier to ignore people up here.”

Then the next day, “I’m sorry for stealing your time away from Teddy. I know you like him.”

On Friday, “Do you actually eat lunch at lunch or do you just sleep? I just realised I’ve never seen you eat.”

Usually because he had his lunch throughout the morning. “I don’t think that’s important.” He never had time to make enough for breakfast and with all the flying he found himself picking at his food until it was all gone by the time lunch came around. “Besides, I think why you continue to come here is cause for more concern than my eating habits.”

Potter picked a little at his sandwich. “You’re going to think it’s stupid.”

“I think all of you is stupid Potter. I mean honestly, you’re on a professional Quidditch player’s salary, get yourself some clothes that fit.” Why Potter continued to turn up to matches wearing clothes three times bigger than he needed was beyond him. 

“I haven’t had time,” which was a lie since he’d had all summer to shop for himself. Yes, maybe Draco had to start shopping in the muggle parts of Britain, but Potter surely didn’t need to. He could just pick himself up a new shirt and be done with it. Anything was better than those rags he wore to work. “And, well, don’t laugh okay but you’re the only person I know here.”

Draco waited for more to come yet it didn’t. “I’m the only person you know here?” he repeated. “What about Wood?”

“Well,” Potter shuffled about a bit, “He’s older than me. We didn’t really have that much in common besides Quidditch.”

Okay. “And the others? You know they’re dying to be your friend right?”

Potter’s face twisted, “Maybe, but, I don’t know, it was just easier sitting with someone I know.”

Unbelievable. “I’m going to say this one more time, and that’s it. You’re an adult Potter. You can make friends other than those two you have waiting for you at home,” of whom, Draco was still pretty sure they were some sort of triad or whatever. He wouldn’t put it past the Weasley girl to be a cover of some sort. “Just go up, ask them a question and they’ll be falling at your feet. It’s definitely better than sitting here every day.”

“You sit here everyday,” Potter mumbled.

“That’s because I’m tired, and this bench means I don’t get sunburn,” Even if it was starting to cloud up now it was nearing winter. “I come here to nap, Potter, and you talking to me means I don’t get to do that.”

“Well maybe I want to nap too.”

“Then go nap somewhere else, urgh,” he raked his hands through his hair, of course, of course Potter was here because of something so stupid as being shy. Nevermind he had the whole of Gryffindor falling to his feet at school. No, now they were out, and school houses meant nothing, now Potter was too shy to make friends. He was pretty sure his life was one big joke.

Proven more so when he saw a smile curling at Potter’s lips. 

He turned his back on the man, bunking down for his usual ten minutes.

They only had three days of training that next week before another game, which meant both of them were too stressed to start nagging on the other. Draco may also have been asked to be on babysitting duty that weekend again and the stress of telling his aunt that maybe just the evening and not a full day wasn’t the best option right now was killing him. 

Enough so he was a bit curt with everyone the morning of the match. He may also have stared down the opposing team a little too much since he got searched for cursed objects right before the match started.

“Idiots,” Draco huffed, hands tightening on his broom.

“I know,” Potter muttered, “It’s like everyone forgets wandless magic exists.”

Draco shot him a look. One Potter returned with a cheeky smile. 

Git.

He knew, before he even flew out there, that their victory wasn’t going to be as easy as the last. Yes, they won, and yes, the winning part of it wasn’t too hard to obtain. It was the after. The fighting the coaches got into as Draco’s mood for the day just had to be because he was up to no good. The Ref didn’t even look to want to side with Peters, despite the fact that there was no use of magic, at all, that had been performed on the pitch. 

Draco felt like an idiot listening to them. He was supposed to be professional. Which meant not turning up to a match in a foul mood. It hadn’t affected his performance today, no, but in the future it might. He-

“You do know this is ridiculous right,” Potter piped up. 

Loud enough for the coaches and ref to hear, their heads turning as one to Potter. “Excuse me?” the Harpies coach asked, far more polite than she had been a second ago.

“All this fighting. Malfoy’s harmless. That’s why he’s not in Azkaban with his dad. Fair enough if he’s done something, but we won that game as fair as we did the last and you know it.” 

Potter was quite possibly the only person who could stand there and say that. If Wood, or hell even someone from the other team had stood up for him, they’d probably claim he’d cursed them. While he could see some people gearing up to do the same to Potter, he also saw them hold their tongues. No one, apparently, wanted to accuse the two time around saviour of the wizarding world of being under a Death Eater’s control. Not after the many he defeated in the war.

So they were given their victory, and when Peters sent them off to the showers Draco knew before it happened that he was going to be called over. However, unlike the yelling he expected, Peters told him to, “Forget them Malfoy. They’re always going to try and take our wins away. You flew good out there, you got that? Don’t let what other people say tell you otherwise.”

He nodded, Peters hurrying him off to get changed.

He took his time, forcing himself to calm down. They’d won. Despite everything they’d won, and they’d kept that win so things worked themselves out somehow. Meaning, he took a deep breath, “I don’t think I can take Teddy for the whole day. Sorry Andromeda.”

“Oh?” she didn’t look mad. That was a good sign. Right? “Your mum said you weren’t busy.”

“I- er, well no but-” He didn’t have enough material to keep Teddy occupied for a full day. He didn’t have the energy. He didn’t think he could handle it on his own. Evenings were fine. When he had Teddy during the day it was because Andromeda and mum were there too. They always took Teddy when Draco got a bit overwhelmed. Alone? What did he do if something happened? It wasn’t just a few hours they would be gone, it would be almost a full day. Morning, afternoon, night, then the next morning until Andromeda picked Teddy up again.

“Everything alright?” Came behind him, Draco not surprised to see Potter steadily creeping closer.

“Fine,” Draco waved off.

“Draco’s not going to be able to look after Teddy on Saturday Harry,” Andromeda explained. 

“Well, not all day. I can look after him during the evening. Or maybe just the day…” One or the other. Not both. 

Andromeda seemed to realise what he was trying to say as she nodded. “The evening would be fine Draco.”

“Or,” Potter chimed in, Draco’s stomach dropping as he predicted those next words yet not able to stop them from being said, “I could come around and help. I’m sure the two of us could take care of Teddy for you.”

“Harry,” Andromeda sighed, head tilting slightly, “The whole reason I need someone to watch Teddy in the first place is because we’re supposed to be going to the Burrow.”

Potter’s mouth twisted, “Well, I mean, you can still go?” 

Andromeda gave him a look that told both of them what she thought of that. It made Draco wonder what exactly was going on at the Burrow. He didn’t ask however. He didn’t care that much. 

“Or you could just go out?” Potter amended. “Be an adult.”

She gave him another look. “I’ll think about it.”

Draco thought that was as good as it was going to get. Which reminded him, “Where is Teddy?” He hadn’t been tackled once in the five minutes he’d stood here.

“Molly has him,” Andromeda huffed. “Like I can’t look after my own grandson.”

“It’s not like that,” Potter sighed.

Draco rolled his eyes, taking his mother’s arm, “Whatever it is like I suggest we go rescue him before I starve to death.”

“I wouldn’t say he needed rescuing,” Potter mumbled, but didn’t fight as he waved Teddy off to join his own celebratory party.

Whatever Potter called it, Draco had Teddy’s undivided attention the rest of the evening. His aunts also as she kept a close eye on him. He tried not to take it personally but, well, no one looked at a person ‘like that’ without there being some motive behind it.

“Something on your mind?” Draco asked as he helped Andromeda find her coat, the manor still echoing Teddy’s latest story to his mother.

She hummed, letting Draco help her get it on, then took his face, his whole body freezing. “You look tired Draco, have you been sleeping?”

“No less than I usually do,” which she couldn’t comment on since she didn’t actually know how long he slept for. He was actually quite proud of that response the more he thought about it. Especially since Andromeda realised the trap Draco had led her into as well, her eyes narrowing as she went off. Probably to ask his mother just how many hours of sleep he got. Not that she knew either. His door was closed at proper times, and since his mother never checked in on him, what did she know about his sleeping habits?

Andromeda kept a close eye on him the rest of the night however. Then later, before she left, told him she’d call Potter, tell him to come around. “I’m suddenly feeling festive.”

A punishment, maybe, for sort of lying to her. Whatever the case, Potter was coming over, and Draco couldn’t say a word to stop him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are still welcome, thank you


	7. Chapter 7

Saturday came far quicker than Draco would have liked. Potter had been oddly quiet at work as well, which seemed to make the days go faster. A fact he enjoyed before he figured out that Potter was probably just saving up his conversation for the full day he’d signed up for when Saturday came. 

Andromeda came with Potter, mother letting them both in downstairs. Instead of the do she was heading to with the Weasleys, mother was taking Andromeda to some sort of muggle flower show. One Draco sort of wished he was going to as well. It was certainly better than sliding off his bed to bid his mother goodbye left, once the door closed, with Potter and just Potter.

“Oof!” Well, Potter and Teddy. “Yes, hello,” he hugged Teddy back. 

Potter cleared his throat, holding a bag of something slightly colourful inside, “I brought some board games. My broom too. Figured we could spend some time flying.”

“Like we don’t do enough of that,” Draco muttered, but even he couldn’t deny it was a nice day for it. He took Teddy’s hand, accio-ing his broom down, “Fine then. Do you want to learn to fly Teddy?”

The answer to that was an enthusiastic “Yes!”

He leaned forward on his broom, resting his arms on the handle and sticking his tongue out at Teddy. The kid laughed, letting go of Potter’s broom to stick his hands out on his cheeks. Very cute. 

Flying could only last so long however. They couldn’t exactly go fast with Teddy either, and while he was three, nearing four, even Teddy found Potter cruising him along the long stretch of the Malfoy grounds fun for a certain amount of time. Not that it mattered, Potter had come prepared. Not only did he have board games, but sugar, flour and a whole other things to make cookies out of. 

As much as Draco wanted to pretend he knew what was going on, he didn’t. He was in as much awe as Teddy at how, exactly, chocolate chip cookies were made. “So they only go in for twelve minutes?” Draco made sure. That didn’t sound right to his ears. 

Yet Potter nodded. “Maybe a bit longer. We keep them in until they’re golden brown on top.” Which Draco didn’t know what that meant until Potter got the cookies out and showed him and Teddy. “If you want them gooey, leave them in less and wait until they harden up a little. If you want them crunchy,” he handed one to Teddy, the cookie gone in under a second, “Twelve minutes more or less.”

Draco took his own bite, the cookie still soft but crunching slightly under his teeth. They were good. More than good. God he wished he knew how to make these before. He only swallowed a little bit of his pride, and more cookie, to ask, “Could you maybe write that recipe down? Mother would appreciate some.” And these certainly wouldn’t be making them to her. 

Potter grinned, “Sure. Anything else you want to know how to make? My aunt used to make me do the cooking when I lived with her.”

Tempting. Far too tempting really. “I’ll think about it.”

They took the cookies to the parlour, Teddy jumping on the sofas until Potter told him to get down. Draco didn’t see why, he needed an excuse to get rid of them, and broken because Teddy had jumped on them too hard didn’t seem to be that bad. It wasn’t like his mother would blame Teddy. She hated these sofas too. Still, Potter had called him down, and, after reading a bunch of parenting books at the muggle library he liked to hide in on some weekends, conflicting orders weren’t good for children. 

Board games, more cooking with Draco taking notes and then evening, where Draco actually knew the routine. Bath, bed, book, done. Easy. Except Teddy always liked to make things difficult, and this time there weren’t two extra people for him to exploit. He was pouty all through Draco lathering up his hair, not even bothering with the bubbles. Which, for Draco, wasn’t that much of a problem. The less time he had to pry Teddy out of the bath the better. Brushing his teeth was a different story, because Teddy knew, after teeth came bed, which meant, in the mind of a three, almost four, year old, if he put off doing his teeth, he could put off bedtime.

Solid logic. 

“Teeth,” Draco insisted, holding the toothbrush in front of Teddy’s mouth.

“No.” Even a foot stomp. Oof, no build up, Teddy really was in a mood. 

“Teddy,” Draco warned.

Teddy stomped his foot again, Draco hearing Potter snigger behind him.

“United front,” He hissed, watching Potter’s smirk fall into a serious nod. He turned back to Teddy, “Teeth please. Harry and I need to brush ours too. You’re holding everyone up.”

Teddy turned his head away.

Okay then, “Teddy bear Lupin we are not leaving this room until your teeth are brushed.”

Teddy’s brow furrowed, head slowly tilting back to Draco, “My name’s not Teddy bear. I think,” he looked to Potter.

It wasn’t, but all those books had taught things like distracting the kid from their bad mood, and if calling Teddy a teddy bear was going to do it then Draco was going to try it. Sure enough, when Potter played along, humming and harring for a good minute, Teddy’s bad mood was all but disappeared, meaning when Draco handed the toothbrush over again, Teddy stuck it in his mouth. Anything to get back to what his full name was. 

Edward, it turned out. Named after Andromeda’s late husband. Draco hadn’t known that, he’d thought the kids name was Theodore or something like that. Well at least he knew now. 

Not that it mattered since, before he settled down under his covers, Teddy announced he liked the sound of Teddy bear better than Edward. 

Potter read Teddy his bedtime story, Draco leaving them to it in favour of stealing the leftovers from dinner. Potter found him down there, rooting through his cupboards to see if they had enough flour for a second round of cookies.  Of course Potter chose clearing his throat as a way to announce his presence, and since Draco was too busy trying to reach the top shelf, he didn’t hear the soft taps of Potter’s approach. He would deny to his grave that he’d jumped. Either way Potter looked amused as he strode the rest of the way into the kitchen. “It’s smaller than I thought it would be here.”

Draco’s heart was still pounding in his ears, common sense telling him to get off the counter so he didn’t look like some sort of goblin. “Well it was made for house elves.”

Potter nodded. “That explains it. Sirius’s kitchen was small too. I always wondered why since they’re always big houses.”

Draco felt his heart stop for a moment before starting again, pretending he hadn’t heard that name, pushing it out of his mind. “Well, the kitchen isn’t what’s important. You don’t show people the kitchen when you take them on a tour.”

“You took me,” Potter pointed out.

“Yes,” He had, “But that’s because I wasn’t going to cook for you.” he shut the cupboards, “Is Teddy asleep?”

“Knocked out,” Potter agreed.

Well that was something. He crouched, looking in the lower cupboards. There had to be some leftover butter. Maybe some icing sugar. Buttercream was tasty. Easy to make too. 

Potter cleared his throat again. 

“You really need to take a cough drop Potter,” Or to get to the point. He knocked over the owl food, checking behind it for the icing sugar. 

A hum came behind him, a bump too as Potter slid onto the counter next to him. Nothing came after that however. Draco made it four more cupboards, Potter staying in his spot, watching, “I was wondering if you wanted to, maybe, go to Diagon Alley with me.”

“Diagon Alley?” Was he on drugs? What was going on here? Yet Potter looked well in mind when Draco looked up. No weird marks on his face, no large eyes, or weird behaviour. Well, he was always weird, but nothing beyond the realm of the norm. Which meant, Draco stood up, “Did my mother put you up to this?”

Potter immediately looked away. That answered that then. “Andromeda, actually.”

Ah. Well, that changed things.

“Your er, she wanted me to get you out of the house.” Of course she did. He knew she was starting to worry. With familiarity came scrutiny after all. It was alright with mother, she was just as shut in as Draco, but, apparently, her trips out with Andromeda actually counted for something since she wasn’t here with freaking Potter asking him to go outside of his own- “There’s something you need to know, and I sort of agree you shouldn’t be at home when you hear it.”

“Oh.” He could feel his shoulders relaxing. “Really?” So it wasn’t because she thought he was antisocial or whatever it was they were calling it these days. That was good. 

Right? 

“Yeah,” Potter said, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “So, do you? I know a quiet place. Well, Hermione found it, or maybe we could go into town here? I had a look around before I came here, it looks nice.”

The town was okay. “It’s better than Diagon,” that was for sure. No one in town was waiting to hex him if he turned his back on them. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually been to Diagon. Probably shortly before his final term of school. He didn’t remember a lot of it. Nor did he particularly want to. “When?”

“Tomorrow?” Potter checked, “I mean, I’m guessing I’m staying tonight, and Andromeda’s coming in the morning so, we could just head straight there?”

“Fine.” It wasn’t Diagon, and it wasn’t a way to ‘make friends’ which was fine by him.

It wasn’t until he was lying in bed later that he wondered what sort of news couldn’t be said in his own house. Was his mother seeing someone? That certainly would be cause for alarm. His mother didn’t have the best taste in partners. Everyone ‘eligible’ these days would either be courting her out of spite or for some other nefarious reason he didn’t want to think about. 

He ended up searching the kitchen until dawn, alternating between feeding himself and the owl that had followed him into the kitchen bits of toast. “You’re going to get fat,” Draco told it, stuffing another slice of bread in the toaster. “Then what will happen? I’ll have to get another owl. Or worse, a phone like those muggles.”

“Owl!” screeched into the kitchen, Teddy running at full speed until he was by Draco’s feet, hands grabbing up to try and get the owl. 

“Teddy,” warned before Draco could, Potter shuffling, yawning, into the kitchen, “Be gentle, you heard what Draco said, he can’t afford to end up with a phone.”

Draco stuffed the last bit of toast down his throat to stop himself from calling Potter a dick. Shooing the owl away, he grabbed Teddy around the waist and set about making breakfast. Something he didn’t actually have to do as, once he’d finished buttering his new slice of toast, Potter had a pan and the leftovers of his goody bag out, bacon sizzling in a way that made Draco want to throw up. 

Potter noticed, asking, “You alright?” as he flipped a piece over.

“Fine,” He’d just have to breathe through his mouth, “Just not fond of the smell.”

“Of bacon?” Potter made sure. “Thought you loved it. I distinctly remember hearing Pansy call you a thief when you stole her sarnie on a Sunday.”

Just how Potter remembered that he didn’t know but, “I used to like it. These days not so much.” Cooking meat of any kind made his stomach turn actually. It was alright when it was in the oven, or on his plate, but the sound on the grill with the smell? 

“You can wait outside if you like,” Potter offered.

“I’ll be fine.” Like he said, he’d just breathe through his mouth.

Andromeda and mother clamoured through the door at nine. Mother went straight to bed, Draco making sure to hand her some water as he watched Andromeda and Potter have some sort of silent conversation to the side. Right, that ‘message’ he was supposed to be told about. 

He grabbed his boots once he’d handed Teddy over, his muggle money too. Potter was waiting by the door, and after unlatching Teddy from his person they were off, the two of them walking the long twenty minutes until they came to the town. 

He let Potter do his little bit exploring. Draco had been here enough times, lately too, to know what was where. After the fourth time, the wonder seemed to die down a little. That also could have been because they were out of his favourite cupcakes that day. Whatever the case, Potter wanted this little outing, so Draco let him take the lead. If he not so subtly hinted at some of the clothing shops they passed on their way then so be it. It wasn’t his fault Potter needed new jeans. Or something that wasn’t practically hanging off his person. How that Weasley girl even looked twice at him was beyond Draco’s understanding. He knew she didn’t exactly live off luxury, but he’d seen some of her exes. She had taste beyond this scruffy look Potter was perpetually wearing. 

“Yes, yes, you hate my clothes,” Potter snorted after Draco steered him towards a cheaper shop. One that Potter should have been happy to spend his money on. 

“I’m just trying to do the world a favour. Merlin help those poor people who have to immortalise you at some point. All they’ll have to go off are a few team photos and whatever this get up is,” he gestured.

Potter rolled his eyes, “If you must know I’m holding out for another growth spurt. No use spending money when it’s all going to be thrown away in a few months.”

Draco bit his lip. He did everything he could possibly think of yet he still ended up saying, “No offence Potter, but you haven’t grown since fifth year and I don’t think it’s going to happen again. Also, I’m pretty sure the average person stops growing at eighteen so,” he yanked Potter a few steps back, herding him into the doorway, “Please do the wizarding, and muggle, world a favour and get yourself a decent shirt. We’ll have a funeral for that one if it’ll make you feel better but I honestly can’t be seen with you like this.” He’d seen more than a few looks directed their way. Did they think he was, what, taking advantage of a homeless kid? That was all he needed, these muggles turning on him too. 

“Such a git,” Potter muttered under his breath, yet he followed Draco inside.

That was where the cooperation ended. How Weasley and Granger had suffered through Potter’s whining all these years was beyond his understanding. After five minutes of listening to constant ‘no’s’ or ‘can we do this another day’, Draco gave up. He marched them out of there and told Potter outright, “If I’m arrested because they think I’m soliciting you I swear to Merlin I’ll-” A rush of things came to mind. Things, a few years ago he’d have no problem saying. Now, he just found himself telling Potter, “I’ll crash Weasley’s wedding. See how happy they’ll be when they see my face glaring at them the whole walk down the aisle.” 

Pathetic. They both knew it was pathetic but Potter had the grace not to mention it. Instead Potter took him to a wall overlooking a row of shops. The promise of ice cream was within his sights, and Draco focused on that as he braced himself for whatever this elaborate plan to get him outside came down to.

Except Potter could be a spineless git at times, meaning after a long, drawn out, “er…”

Draco was left to guess, and he knew there was only one thing that could have people, especially someone like Potter who had never been afraid to scream profanities at him before, hesitant. “Father’s getting out isn’t he?”

There was a brief moment of hesitation, then Potter nodded. “Four weeks. They’re going to formally tell you on Friday, but Andromeda thought you should know before then.”

He felt his nails clench into his palms. “Right.” Mother was going to be, well, he didn’t know what she was going to be. “I take it someone just let this information slip.”

“There was a hearing.” and Potter was always invited to those these days. “Since your dad defected-”

“That’s bullshit.” Defected? When had his father defected? When in all of that chaos did he once think of defecting? “I can’t believe this.” But he couldn’t believe his own sentencing either. Mother’s maybe. But his own? He wore the dark mark. He’d done things that would have landed anyone else in Azkaban yet here he was. His father must have done something, struck some sort of deal or weaseled his way into someone’s good books because- because “This is ridiculous. Who the fuck decided that?”

“I-” There was an odd look on Potter’s face, “I don’t know. I was honestly just as shocked as you.” Which he honestly hadn’t expected.

“What, you thought I would be happy to have him out?” he could already predict what was coming. He felt sick. But public wasn’t exactly the best place to have a meltdown. Or in front of Potter for that matter. “I think it’s best I go home,” he said, his voice only slightly wobbling. 

“Okay,” Potter said after a moment.

Draco left him there. Potter was an adult, he could apparate, so he left him there, and once Potter was out of sight he near ran the whole way home. The plan had been to find mother. Maybe write to Andromeda, make sure this was real. In the end he simply ended up in his room, staring at the wall opposite his bed. Hours he sat there, the light fading until darkness had set in, the creaks in his house becoming whispers, footsteps, screams that made his skin crawl.

The worst part was he had work the next day. He had work the entire four weeks leading up to his father’s release. The urge to quit nearly overwhelmed him when he turned up to the stadium. He was going to end up doing it anyway. But courage had never been his strong suit. Meaning, he spent so long standing there, working up the words to say, the formal letter he would have to write, that he ended up wasting what little time he had to actually say it in. Before he knew it Peters was yelling at him to get on his broom, and Draco had been well trained enough to simply do as he was told that he didn’t think, just followed. He did his drills all day, listened to the game plan they were going to be executing on their next match. He stared at the sky on his lunch break and went home when the day was done with no insinuation at all to Peters that he wasn’t going to be here for long.

The next day was the same. The next after that as well. In fact, Draco made it to his next match without word coming up about his resignation. Potter didn’t comment about any of it, strangely enough. Draco would have thought he’d use any excuse he could to ask about Lucius’s return to society, yet lunch came and went and the most Potter did was tell him some anecdote about Teddy. 

The eve of his next match he forced himself to pull himself together. His father wasn’t out yet. Two weeks and then, well, then things might change, but for the time being Lucius was in Azkaban, Draco wasn’t. So Draco wasn’t going to quit. He didn’t have to quit. He didn’t want to quit was the thing. He liked his job. Even with Potter there he liked his job. It was a reason to get up, it made him happy. Tired beyond belief, but happy in a way he hadn’t been in a while. So if tomorrow was his last match, so be it, but Draco would be damned if he didn’t try and go out in a blaze of glory. Let them call him a Death Eater to his face all they liked, but he was a damn good Quidditch player too, and he was going to show that.

Hopefully.

He certainly forced himself to sleep, waking with a full eight hours under his belt and feeling like he could sleep a few hours more. He made it to the pitch on time however, forcing all thoughts, other than where the quaffle was, out of his head.

He wouldn’t, afterwards, say it was the best game he’d ever played, but it hadn’t been the worst either. He’d scored more than once too. Actually, it had mainly been a good game, great he would even deign to say, if it weren’t for the bruises starting to come up on his skin.

He heard more than one person hiss when he dragged his Quidditch robe over his head. “Want me to fetch the healer?” Wood offered.

Draco shook his head, dumping his robe to the bench as he twisted to see his back. He couldn’t see a lot, but what he could see mainly matched the front, that being a patch of red that was slowly darkening in colour. Patches of it were scratched up, some of it scabbed where it had clotted throughout the match. But, “I’m not too bad with healing spells,” and he’d certainly gotten worse from a Quidditch match, second year coming to mind. 

Potter’s head popped around the corner, “I can go fetch Hermione if you don’t want the fuss.”

“For Merlin-” he took a deep breath, “I’m not dying, I can use a wand and I did pass my O.W.L’s. I can handle a few bruises.” And he certainly didn’t want Granger to get her hands on him. He remembered how hard she could hit, and that had been years ago now. She’d grown since then. 

“They should have been disqualified for that in any case,” Wood piped up. “I swear that bludger had been tampered with.”

Draco was inclined to believe it too. He wouldn’t put it past someone in the crowd if not the players beforehand. But, “I survived. What’s more I didn’t fall,” he grabbed a shirt, “which means they’ll know for next time they’re going to have to try harder than that if they want to get rid of me.” If there was a next time. This just proved that maybe he should quit now before he gave Peters hope he wouldn’t have to put the reserve in for the next game. Spelled or not spelled, people’s fear of him were slowly waning. First it was a bludger, then it would be hexes. Draco was looking at an early grave if he continued down this line of work.

He folded his uniform, wondering if that would be his legacy in Quidditch. Bowed out because the pressure had started to ramp up. Would they call it smart or cowardice? He didn’t think he wanted to find out. He was going to have to avoid any wizarding place he could until the media storm blew over. 

If there was one. Draco honestly wasn’t sure how popular his name was in the papers these days. 

“Hey,” Potter landed his uniform on top of Draco’s, taking both of them under his arm, “So Andromeda said she wanted to take us to this new muggle place near London. But if you want to go somewhere else I can always take Ron and Hermione.” Hint, it’s going to be a talk about his father and Potter wanted to know if Draco wanted an audience to their family laundry or not. 

“Probably for the best you go with your friends. Don’t take this the wrong way but while you may have forgotten our little talk about looking appropriate in public I certainly haven’t,” he said, eyeing up the ratty shirt Potter was sporting. 

“Such a snob,” Potter snorted, running off to his friends before Draco could get another word in.

He only realised, after he’d been spirited away to some place quieter than an all you can eat buffet Andromeda had planned to take them, that Potter still had his uniform. Not that it mattered he supposed. He could just tell Potter to hand it in for him once he’d handed over his resignation to Peters.

“Here,” a large glass of something sickly sweet smelling was placed in front of him, Andromeda sipping at her own glass. “You look like you need it.” 

“You know you’re not supposed to encourage alcoholism,” and Draco certainly wasn’t going to start down that route either as he pushed the glass over to mother. 

“Sometimes it’s the only way to get through life,” Andromeda said, a roll to her eyes. “Now are we going to talk about this?”

He saw his mother fiddle with the glass stem. “What’s there to talk about? Father’s getting out of prison.” Big whoop. Now everything was going to go back to how it was. Well, sort of how it was. 

Andromeda cleared her throat, Draco catching his mother make a face back at her. Then, “Draco, you know you don’t have to be there, don’t you?”

“Be there?”

“At the manor,” mother explained. “You’re twenty, you have a good job, you’re more than capable of living on your own.”

Valid points but, “I’m not just going to leave you there.” since that was what it came down to. That was what it always came down to. 

“Draco-”

“Are you leaving?” he checked.

“Well, no, but things are complicated-”

“Things are always complicated,” He hissed, “that doesn’t mean you can’t leave.”

“I need to sort some things out,” She tried again.

“What things?” He challenged. “What could you possibly have to sort out with him?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You always say that.” complicated. What was complicated about it? So she was married, so what? Muggles divorced every day. Sure, it wasn’t as heard of in the wizarding world but it still happened. In fact, he was sure no one would blame his mother for filing for a divorce. Not that it mattered what people thought since mother didn’t talk to enough people these days for her to care about their opinions. “I can’t stay here.” Their meals hadn’t even come, and Draco wasn’t hungry anymore. He’d pay for their next meal or slide some money their way at some point but he didn’t want to have this conversation. Especially not in public. 

So he left. He apparated back to the manor and locked himself in his bathroom. He hadn’t even started the bath before he heard the door slam downstairs, his mother’s shoes stomping up until she was banging on his door, then the bathroom door when she inevitably found that one empty. “Draco open this door.”

“No.” He started the tap, sitting on the side of the tub.

“Draco,” she warned.

“I’m busy.”

Another voice joined mother’s, the two of them hissing to each other before mother, again, started, “We’re going to have this conversation whether you like it or not so open this door.”

“I’m indecent!” Leave, leave, leave.

“Fine! Then you’re just going to have to listen.” Another hushed conversation. “Your father is getting out of prison,” like he was entirely unaware of why they were having this conversation, “And he’s going to be coming back here. This is his home Draco. But it doesn’t have to be yours.”

“I’m not leaving.” 

“Yes you are,” she snapped. “As soon as the weekend comes you’re packing your bags and you’re getting out of here.”

Wait. “You can’t do that!” 

“I can and I am. If you don’t move your things I’ll move them for you,” she threatened, then, quieter, “Darling you know what he’s going to do if you’re still living here when he gets out. You know how he is. And you’re happy. You’re so happy sweetheart and I don’t want you to lose that. I… I need to stay. Just for a little while. But you don’t, and I’m not going to let you suffer in this house if you don’t have to.” 

“I don’t want to leave you.” She spoke so much about him but what about her? What about her nursery and the remodels she’d been doing? What about the telephone thing that Andromeda had brought her? The nights out. The muggle cooking and restaurants and- “I can’t leave you here.”

“Draco,” Andromeda this time, “you know I won’t let anything happen.”

Did he? Did he really? So many people had promised him that in the past and where were they? What good had their promise done? “Please don’t make me leave.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “The weekend Draco.” Leaving him little more to argue with.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t try and argue his case. He spent all night coming up with reasons and arguments about why he shouldn’t leave. What he hadn’t banked on was mother evading him that next morning. Or the patronus that near scared that life out of him from Potter telling him he was late. 

Potter had the decency to shove his uniform at him when he finally got to the pitch. “I told Peters I stole your uniform. He’s still pissed, but he’s not murderous.” 

He didn’t know what to do with that. So he didn’t say anything, instead changing quickly and sprinting onto his broom. That morning was a nightmare. He got told off in front of everyone, was made an example of for unprofessionalism. Draco barely heard him. If Peters thought he was even the least bit intimidating he was wrong. Draco knew intimidating. Draco had grown up with intimidating and Peters, with all his yelling, maybe once he could have found a slither of fear inside of Draco and taken advantage of it, but not now. 

Peters seemed to realise too at one point. Still, he kept on with his rant, if only to show no favouritism, before letting them go to lunch.

Potter didn’t even keep his distance this time, walking right alongside Draco up the stand to the little nook he liked to suffer by. “I’m sorry, again,” Potter said, “If I haven’t already said sorry that is. I honestly didn’t realise I had it until Sunday, and then I figured you’d probably just wear your spare.”

He didn’t say anything, falling, instead, onto his bench. Mother was probably going to avoid him when he got back. She’d avoid him until the weekend, he just knew it, which meant he wouldn’t have a chance of telling her he wasn’t moving out. She was probably already moving some of his things now, while he wasn’t around to complain or move them back. 

He scrubbed his hands over his face, resigning himself to the fact that he was going to be living with Andromeda. Something he didn’t actually hate the idea of. He wouldn’t mind spending more time with Teddy. They lived in one of those muggle houses too, with the telephones and tvs and stuff. No long hallways. No dead birds buried in the back garden. No, he was leaving mother to that. To that and father. He was an awful son.

Potter was rambling. Draco could hear his voice like white noise drifting in and out of his ears as he felt sorry for himself. At least until Potter nudged him, Draco finally able to hear Peters calling them down to start training again. 

He had to do laps that afternoon while the others flew. The running was actually kind of nice. It tired him out so much that he didn’t think, just focused on not looking like a wimp who couldn’t run a few laps in front of everyone else. His legs felt like lead when he was done, Draco stretching as much as he could but even he knew he was going to have trouble getting up tomorrow. 

The hours passed more easily after that. He fell back into his routines, his drills and plays and studiously didn’t think about just what his mother was moving to Andromeda’s back home. Work had to come to an end at some point however, Peters telling him, again, not to be late tomorrow as he waved the rest of the team off. Which meant at least one thing was still consistent right now, Draco wasn’t quitting. He had a perfect opportunity to do so and he didn’t take it, which meant he was moving into Andromeda’s. He was leaving his mother.

His shoulder was nudged on his way out, Wood’s voice asking, “You coming to the pub?” like it wasn’t a Monday.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be drinking on a work night,” Draco told him.

Wood waved him off, “It’s Martin’s birthday.” Martin… reserve chaser, he placed. “He’s turning the big one eight, which means muggle booze cruise.” Wood even did a little dance, Draco feeling the first smile in a long time stretch across his face.

“Love to, can’t.”

Wood rolled his eyes, “Look, if you don’t want to drink, you don’t have to. I keep telling you, just come for the craic.” 

Tempting. It would save him trying to look for his mother who was probably hiding even as she left some sort of dinner out for him he was going to have to eat alone. But, “I’m er, I’m moving in with my aunt at the weekend. I should really go home and sort stuff.” He’d never had to move before. What the hell did he even do? Use a shrinking charm? A backpack? 

There was an odd look on Wood’s face when he said, “Oh really?” Then, “huh. So you’re finally moving out of the manor?”

“Had to happen some time.” Draco had always thought it would be when he was seventeen. Him and Blaise, maybe Crabb, would get a place in London. He’d have some swank job in the Ministry that earned him way more than he knew what to do with and he went home every night complaining about a bad back and missing quills. It would all be temporary, of course, until father retired him and mother to one of their houses abroad and Draco moved in with some woman he’d been set up with and their one, maybe two, children. 

Weird how things didn’t always go to plan.

“Wait, your aunt?” came to his right, Potter appearing like some sort of spectre, just waiting for Draco to say the right trigger words. “Wh- is this about…?” his eyes went larger like that finished his sentence off.

Thankfully Draco knew the context of it all so he didn’t have to spend a year deciphering this weird language Potter thought he spoke. “Yes. And mother has kindly informed me that I am to leave and continue with my life as it is now so.”

“Huh,” Potter said, falling into step with him. 

“Am I missing something?” Wood asked.

“No,” Draco answered before Potter could make some half brained excuse. “And again, I’m sorry I won’t be there to scare the living daylights out of whoever you’ve invited to this booze cruise.”

Wood had the good sense to know when to leave things alone since he said, “Suit yourself,” and went to catch up with the others. 

“Booze cruise?” Potter asked.

“Wood’s determined to get me drunk.” Draco knew it was because Wood was curious what sort of drunk Draco was. He was rather curious himself, but, again, slippery slope. “I’m surprised you’re not going.”

“Can’t,” Potter sighed, hefting his broom onto his shoulder, “Ron has me helping with wedding stuff now the engagement is firmly out of the way. Apparently because I just ‘play quidditch all day’ they think I have time to pick up samples and- and you don’t care so I’ll stop talking.”

“Wise of you,” Draco nodded. 

“But you’re moving in with Andromeda?” Potter asked again. 

“Yes.” And that was that. Potter didn’t need to know the whys of it all. “No doubt you’ll be seeing a lot more of me if you spend half as much time with Teddy as I fear, so, sorry I guess.”

They walked a few more feet closer to the apparition point, “I didn’t mean it like th-”

“I don’t care how you meant it Potter.” He took a deep breath, forcing himself not to start. He wasn’t in school anymore. What’s more he had to work with Potter, he couldn’t just lay into the man like he might have once done. It wasn’t like it was Potter’s fault anyway. So, “I’m sorry.”

“‘S fine,” Potter mumbled, the two of them parting ways after that.


	8. Chapter 8

It was a little odd not seeing his mother that week. He knew she was lurking around somewhere, but just where exactly he wasn’t all too sure of. What he was sure of was that, like he thought, his things were slowly going missing, either packed up or already shipped to Andromeda’s. It was starting to make things more real. It was also starting to frustrate him to no end because she’d disappeared his socks and while he knew he had a lot of them he still needed at least one pair to wear to work. “Mother!” 

She didn’t answer him. Which meant Draco had to go sockless to work that Thursday. An awful day really. His shoes gave him blisters, his grip was all wrong because he didn’t like how his shoes felt now there was no barrier cushioning the weird material and he didn’t get to his favourite lunch spot because even the thought of walking up all those stairs was making his feed throb. 

He ended up lying on the grass, a few of his teammates muttering something about Draco finally losing it as he willed lunch to go that little bit faster. Potter, naturally, drawn to his suffering like a moth to a flame, found him not even five minutes in. Flopping next to him like he didn’t have socks and wasn’t unable to climb the many stairs to their little nook, Potter started pulling on his jumper. Not a good thing in Draco’s opinion. Sure, their uniforms were thrown through the ringer, but compared to what Potter usually wore this was the only decent thing Draco knew he owned. 

“Out with it,” Draco sighed. 

Potter sat up. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Obviously.” 

Draco got a glare for that, Potter turning back to his jumper when he repeated, “I’ve been thinking. So, right, so I know Andromeda is your aunt and she’s offered and all that but, I mean, she has Teddy. And Teddy’s a baby and they’re hard work and, like, I know you’re good with him and I know she’d probably be happy for the help and stuff but-”

“Could you get to the point?”

“I have a spare room,” Potter bit out. 

Draco let that register. He sat up. “You’re joking.” Potter couldn’t possibly be saying what he thought he was.

Yet, “I mean, I have the space-”

“You hate me,” he reminded Potter. “I’m not overtly fond of you either.”

“I don’t think you have to like someone to live with them,” Potter mumbled.

“You say that because no one you’ve lived with-” He would have finished, but the look Potter sent him coupled with the fact Potter had outright stated, more than once, he wasn’t fond of his muggle relatives held his tongue. “What I’m trying to say is that it won’t be preferable to either of us.”

“It’s better than being woken up at six in morning every day. Maybe earlier. Teddy’s started to have trouble sleeping through the nights.”

“Well,” Yes that would be something difficult to live with but, “I can deal with that. He’s family.”

“Yes but you don’t have to is what I’m saying,” Potter insisted. “I mean, maybe it’ll be awful. Or maybe it’ll be just like Hogwarts. I mean, it’s not like we’ll be sharing a room, and we’ve already seen each other at our worsts so…”

Oh. Draco hadn’t thought of it like that. Not the things Potter was saying, since that was utter crap. But the things he wasn’t. The reasons, maybe, for why it would be better living with Saint Potter than his aunt. Andromeda was family, but Potter was right, she had Teddy to look after. If Draco moved in she’d definitely be keeping an eye on him. Which meant she’d probably notice the nightmares when they came, since the walls there were rather thin. He had a short temper sometimes too. At home he could just find somewhere small with a lock and shake it out, but Andromeda’s wasn’t as spacious. 

He liked Andromeda. He liked Teddy and Andromeda. He didn’t think he wanted to ruin that. 

Potter, on the other hand, what was there to lose? They weren’t friends. Sure, they spent their lunch breaks together, but that was merely because Draco’s wand was with Peters whenever he entered the stadium so he couldn’t hex Potter away. If they fought, the worst Potter could do was kick him out. A daunting idea, but maybe the peace between now and then Draco could do what any other person his age was doing and just look for somewhere else. Somewhere that was his own.

“If Weasley so much as looks at me funny,” Draco threatened.

“He won’t,” Potter promised. “He doesn’t even live there. Him and Hermione have a place in Diagon.”

So just him and Potter. Joy. “I’ll tell Andromeda.”

Potter nodded, and before he left work that night had an address scribbled on his hand he felt like slapping Potter for. 

Of course, of course Potter had Grimmauld Place. He felt like an idiot remembering the fact he’d been there when Kreacher had told them. Of course Potter, too, wouldn’t give it up. Hero complex and all. He probably thought he was honoring… honouring Sirius or whatever. Ridiculous idiot.

Mother was pleased anyway. He didn’t know if it was the idea that him and Potter were finally getting on, since that meant no more awkward family outings after Quidditch matches, or just the fact that he seemed to have taken some adult action in his own living situation but she was more than on board with the idea of him moving into Grimmauld Place.

Draco less so when, that next day, after he’d gone home and fetched the first of many boxes, he apparated outside of a London townhouse that was only slightly better than the manor. Slightly.

Potter had changed when he answered the door. He thrust a key at Draco too, taking his box off him. “Go get the others, I’ll put this one in the living room and you can sort them later.”

Which was that.

It took the good portion of the evening to move everything. It would have taken less, but, again, his mother had already moved some of his things to Andromeda’s, which meant going there, battling through Teddy who wanted to nothing more than to stick to Draco’s legs, grabbing his things and apparating back to start the whole process again.

He’d never been happier that it was Saturday the day after. Just looking at all the boxes he had was giving him a headache, and he was pretty sure some of this stuff wasn’t even his. Proven so when he peered in one box and found a few of mother's things inside. Her newer things. Things his father would throw out as soon as he got home. 

It was a little daunting waving mother off. Mainly because this wasn’t a sleepover. Draco was living here now. Away from her. She seemed to know that too, kissing his cheek around ten times before leaving him standing at the door. “Write Draco,” she told him.

He waved her off with a nod, watching her disappear. 

Potter was hauling one of the boxes up to the second floor when Draco finally joined him. He grabbed another, following Potter through familiar halls until he came to one of the guest bedrooms. “Good choice,” Draco told him. “I think if you gave me my great Aunt’s room I would have vomited.”

“You met her?” Potter asked.

Draco nodded, scouring the halls on his way back down for that damn portrait. Last time he’d been here she’d been tutting about his blond hair. She, at least, thinking he looked more like his father than her side of the family. Something he was sort of thankful for, and honestly wouldn’t mind hearing again except it looked like someone had knocked out the wall his great Aunt’s portrait had stood on and replaced it with another. 

“I’m thinking about painting this place,” Potter told him later, the two of them awkwardly huddled around the stove as Draco took notes on how not to burn their dinner. “Maybe replacing some of the furniture.”

Draco hummed, realising after a moment that Potter probably thought he had an opinion about those things. He was living here after all. But it was more than that he supposed. Blood purity and all that crap. “Burn this place to the ground for all I care. Just make sure your next flat has room for two or else I will be moving in with Andromeda.” Nothing in here had any value. Nothing except-

“No!” that was screamed behind them, something grey and wrinkled attaching itself quite comically to Potter’s leg. “Master must not let harm come to our house. Master promised.”

“Oh for,” Potter shook his leg slightly, Kreacher hanging on all the more tighter. “For Gods sake Kreacher I’ve already told you nothing’s happening to the house. Malfoy was just being dramatic.”

Whether it was the joke finally cottoning on, or Kreacher’s vault of pureblood names finally opening itself back up Kreacher let go of Potter almost immediately, his giant eyes drying up as soon as they landed on Draco. “Master Malfoy,” Kreacher repeated, something almost like awe in his voice. Maybe once upon a time he would have enjoyed that. Enjoyed the fact that Kreacher knew him, that he remembered him and what his family was worth. But all Draco saw when looking at Kreacher was his aunt Bellatrix. The orders she’d given him and how he’d gone behind Potter’s back to do it. So even if Kreacher bowed, almost grovelled, welcoming Draco to his new home, promising him undying loyalty, Draco didn’t believe him. 

He certainly wouldn’t be taking advantage of having a house elf around again that was for sure, so Potter’s warning not to mess around with Kreacher was well meaning but useless. Draco would gladly survive on his own than ask for help from this house elf. 

Things were quiet after dinner. Potter left him to unpack and Draco had a new room to get used to. One that smelled of mould and, weirdly of those weird pustle things Weasley’s brothers used to sell in their joke shop. Draco wondered if they still had it. He wondered a lot what had changed since he’d last been to Diagon. He didn’t even go there to withdraw money anymore, mother having him set up a separate account somewhere closer to home in case his father, well, in case his father ever got out of Azkaban and tried to move Draco under his thumb again. There was nothing worse, his mother had told him, than not having money to escape with. He needed to know his own worth, he needed to have something separate that his father couldn’t touch, and if it meant they didn’t have to go to Diagon every other week that was just an added bonus to both of them.

The mattress was hard, the walls peeling. This whole place looked like it was dying. But it wasn’t unsalvageable. In fact, where once he might have complained, even cried, being forced to sleep here for even one night Draco looked at it now anew. It was a chance to start over. A project, like mother’s nursery was, to do something with his time. He might not be here for the long run, but surely Potter wouldn’t complain if Draco managed to fix that awful smell coming from somewhere in this place.

It wasn’t completely a lost cause anyway. It was large enough to house almost everything he owned, the wardrobe a little questionable, but, again, nothing he couldn’t fix. London wasn’t anywhere he didn’t know either. He might be more used to the long stretches of grass when looking out his window, but father often used to bring Draco to London when mother was too busy to watch him, or something important was going on at the Ministry and father wanted him to bear witness. London was… nice. Expensive. A little drab in places, but Draco didn’t have to limit himself to the city. He was a wizard after all, who could apparate to more familiar places if need be. 

The point was, Grimmauld Place wouldn’t be the worst place he’d ever lived.

At least during the day. At night it was a completely different story. 

It was one thing to sleep in an empty manor he’d grown up in his whole life, and quite another to lay his head down on a pillow that seemed to want to suffocate him. The noises were different here. The walls were all wrong. Things that used to comfort him at home couldn’t do so here. His desk wasn’t by the window yet, and the window itself was on the wrong side of the room. The door didn’t lock properly, the handle looking like it had been blasted off its hinges. Something was gurgling, and Draco, in his half asleep state, didn’t know if it was the bathroom down the hall or a death eater drowning someone in an aguamenti spell. Maybe both, who knew. 

He didn’t sleep well put it that way, waking more exhausted than he had been the day before and hoping fixing some of the problems in his room would help him sleep better tonight.

Potter was awake when he trudged downstairs. It was both weird and not seeing him in his pyjamas. More weird because he was in them so close to Draco than in them at all. Usually they were on opposite ends of the hall when Saturday rolled around, Draco often threatening to find the Hufflepuff common room just because he’d heard rumours it was near the kitchen when he did roll out of bed.

Potter seemed to find it weird too, the pair of them usually dressed and dealing with an excitable Teddy when they were at the manor. No Teddy this morning however. Just a plate of toast and the  _ Prophet _ loudly telling the world Lucius Malfoy was being released next week in Potter’s hands. 

“What are you up to today then?” Draco asked, just to keep things amiable. He couldn’t start his first day off in Potter’s house being an ass and they both knew it.

The paper crinkled as Potter turned a page, “Might find some new boots. I think I grew a bit.”

“Unlikely,” Draco heard himself mutter. He waited a second, praying it was too quiet to be heard before continuing with, “I was hoping to ask whether you’d mind if I decorated my room. Nothing too ostentatious, just something that doesn’t make it look like I’m living in a coffin.”

“Go for it,” Potter told him. “Pick up some paint samples if you go out too, I really need to actually start on this place.”

Which was actually a relief since if Potter had actually tried to remedy anything his efforts hadn’t shown. “I will. And I promise, no green.” He still liked the colour, just not the one that haunted his dreams, and green at night all looked the same. Too dark, too morbid.

He heard Potter huff, the noise almost resembling a chuckle as he turned another page, silence overtaking the rest of breakfast.

Draco escaped not long after that. Making sure he had his key he toured the muggle shops of London for a while before apparating somewhere more familiar. The town not far from the manor had a few DIY stores he’d seen on occasion. He’d never really had a reason to look in before, and the prospect now almost had him a little excited. He knew the colours would have to be approved by Potter, but the possibilities when staring down an aisle of paint were thrilling when he forgot about that. 

His room at home had been dark. Everything at the manor was dark. It was either old stone or wallpaper he was sure still had some poisonous ingredients residing in its formula, old greens and yellows having been there since his father’s father laid them down.

Grimmauld was much the same, but Potter wasn’t a pureblood, so Draco had hope that the blues he snatched samples of might make it to the final cut.

He jumped on a few mattresses after that. Maybe had a look at the bookshelves and tables. Definitely bought a new plate set after the one he’d seen this morning had chips in the sides. His attention got caught on one plate in particular, a weird cartoon sun grinning back at him. It was meant to be stupid, he knew that, and most likely the muggles who bought it were getting it as a joke gift. For all his life Draco had been eating off plain, boring plates because that was what adults did. But as an adult now, with money that was his own and plates he needed to buy, he couldn’t see the harm in getting something stupid. 

He’d still hex Potter to next century if he commented on them however, so Draco picked up some plain ones too, investigating the mugs and cups before carefully counting his muggle money out. He had to say he was getting better at that too. Pounds were easier to understand than galleons as well, mathematically wise, the notes certainly didn’t weigh him down either. 

All in all he felt pretty good when he went home. Well, sort of good. He accidentally ended up apparating outside of the manor before remembering he didn’t live there. But once he was back at Grimmauld his spirits lifted once more. Mother would be fine after all. Father wasn’t being released for another few days, and Andromeda had promised to keep an eye on things. She was probably enjoying the quiet, holed up in her nursery or knocking down another few walls before father could stop her.

Regardless, there was something rather freeing going back to a home he knew his mother wouldn’t be inside. Sort of like being at school. There, Draco could do or say whatever he liked, within reason, and not be shunted off to his room or be threatened with his father’s involvement if he did something wrong. Then again, this home had Potter in, so was Draco really free? Potter was, arguably, worse than his mother. If not him then the other two Draco had no doubt Potter was reporting back to every night like some sort of palace guard. Why they weren’t here already was a mystery. Even now, as Draco walked into Grimmauld, the most he could hear was Kreacher cleaning the floors. 

Strange.

But maybe Potter had told them to hold off. He was the ‘savior of the wizarding world’, Draco was barely worth Potter’s energy to them. They probably figured Potter could handle him. That, or they didn’t know about this arrangement. Which, again, Draco wasn’t so certain of since he was sure all three of them had something strange going on. 

Maybe that was it. If Potter was going to be spending most nights at Weasley and Granger’s then maybe he didn’t care to warn them that he had an almost homeless Death Eater at his other property. Just because Potter had been there this morning, after all, didn’t mean he hadn’t apparated out last night and reapparated this morning from Granger and Weasley’s. Or, just Weasley’s he supposed since Granger was officially tying herself to an army of redheads for the rest of her life.

“Would Master Draco-”

“Bah!” He hadn’t even heard Kreacher sneak up on him, not that the house elf cared. 

Even as Draco skirted around him, heart racing, Kreacher continued, “-like Kreacher to put his purchases away? Kreacher would be most honoured to serve Master Draco.”

Draco just bet he would the vile thing. “I’m fine.” he was tempted to get to higher ground. But he was pretty sure house elves could climb. Dobby certainly had no trouble jumping on father’s bed when he thought they were all out for the day. He made a shooing motion in the end, Kreacher’s ears flattening to his head as he toddled off to some other part of the house, Draco’s heart settling once more.

He tossed the paint samples on the table, unwrapping his plates and putting them on the highest shelf he could. There was no way Draco was chancing Kreacher getting his hands on them. He clung to Black family heirlooms like they were gold dust, and granted some were. But still, these were decidedly not fancy in any which way, and Draco would be damned if they were thrown out because of it. It would mean a few awkward stretches, maybe kneeling on the bench to reach them, but Draco was willing to sacrifice his pride for it. It wasn’t like he had any left after all.

He looked through the fridge after that, sighing when he realised he should have gotten food while he was out. At least it would give him something to do tomorrow. For tonight, Draco was happy enough lounging on the path just outside Grimmauld and wait for a pizza.

Potter found him there, his shadow blocking out the sun that was probably giving him a nasty burn. “God it’s like living with a cat,” was how he knew it was Potter and not some random muggle that had tutted at him before stepping around him. “Am I going to find you napping in front of the windows too?”

“I ordered food. I wasn’t sure the muggles could see this place with the Fidelius.” if it was still in place. His mother and him hadn’t needed to know the address since they’d already visited but who knew, maybe it was still around. 

“Right,” Potter’s shadow nodded, a brief bit of sun dancing across Draco’s eyelids before darkness replaced it once more. “Well, erm, shift a little until I can get in.” 

He sat up, moving away from the gate enough for Potter to reach around and open it, “You know a please wouldn’t kill you,” he grumbled, lying back down.

“And sun cream wouldn’t kill you,” Potter said, still very much too close. He was only a little farther away when Draco heard, “We better be splitting it.”

“Piss off.” He should have ordered his own. Or left a note. Or actually had enough food in so Draco didn’t have to order in his first official day of living at Grimmauld Place.

Despite Draco’s polite attempt at telling him they weren’t sharing, Potter was adamant he was going to get at least one slice. Hounding Draco from the moment he got in until he was happily sitting in one of the moldy armchairs munching something that looked very much like his well earned dinner. 

“Pig,” Draco scoffed, finishing the box.

“I’m a professional Quidditch player, I need the calories.” Potter finished off the last of his slice. “Besides, you’re just as bad as me. Don’t think I didn’t see your eyes light up when the deserts were brought out.”

“What child isn’t happy at the prospect of cake Potter?” And sure, maybe he didn’t get it at home. Maybe his father only gave it out when they were having dinner guests over, or if it was definitely from a pureblood bakery, but his point still stood. Any and every kid alive loved the idea of desert and that was just a fact. “Besides, I need the calories too.”

He tossed his box onto the floor, almost jumping a mile, again, when Kreacher appeared out of nowhere and swooped it up. His toes were literally curling, suspended from where Draco had dragged them from the floor, until Kreacher was gone. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” Draco decided, whatever good mood he’d been in definitely gone now. “I left paint samples for you, and a mattress should be coming tomorrow so if you hear a van before I do don’t let them leave it in a puddle.” Even if the weather had been nice lately he didn’t trust London. 

“Sure,” Potter said, Draco quickly leaving the living room before the mould decided to start growing on him. He had just made it to the stairs when he heard a quiet, “Night then,” he wasn’t all too sure had been said. This place creaked like nothing else after all, and Draco had definitely heard something whisper through the halls last night.

With a mattress on the way, he set to quickly rectifying what he could in his room. There was no possible way he was suffering through what he had last night. He tried several different types of reparo on that damn lock before giving up and settling for enlarging his bookcase from home and making sure he could drag it to the door even full. The gurgling down the hall he could do nothing about without actually investigating what the cause was, and no doubt they’d have to call someone else in for it to be a proper job so Draco turned to the windows instead. If he wanted air, he could just step outside his room. It wasn’t like it was hot right now. Not at night anyway, and Draco would gladly suffer heatstroke than feel something cold running up his back, like the blankets were being slowly dragged from his bed. So he gummed it up. He’d asked a muggle all about draughts and bought himself some fancy sticky stuff that definitely seemed to keep the worst of the breeze out. 

He’d need to actually start cleaning tomorrow. Definitely talk Potter into painting next weekend, but all in all it wasn’t a bad job when Draco was done with it all. Save the mattress. But he was burning that first thing tomorrow so he supposed he could suffer through another night.

Or so he told himself. He kept feeling like there were things crawling over him. Despite the bookcase barricading the door too, that didn’t mean Draco couldn’t hear things. Like that tapping on his glass as rain started up. That bloody gurgle again that had him covering his ears. He almost cried, that was how bad it grew. The late hour and lack of light had him near praying on his bed for the sun to come up.

He was on his side, a pillow over his ear and trying to will himself to sleep when he heard a creak on the landing. His skin started tingling in a way that made his toes curl as it came again, closer to his door. Then again, footsteps walking down the hall. Then cursing, Draco sighing onto his back as he recognised Potter’s annoying voice. He cracked a smile. That was probably the first time he’d been happy to hear Potter in his life. 

Potter didn’t stay on the landing. Nor did he come back upstairs once Draco heard him go down. In fact, when Draco ventured down after realising he wasn’t going to sleep even with the sun up, he found Potter sitting at the kitchen table, paper in hand and looking, for all intents and purposes, rough. Quite like how Draco felt really.

Draco grabbed some parchment along with his toast, sliding it in front of Potter. “Write a list of what you want, I’m going out again.”

Potter did, ingredients Draco had never heard of popping up until the list was certainly more than he could carry. “They deliver if you ask,” Potter told him.

“They’d bloody better.” 

He saw Potter’s lips quirk as he jotted a few more things down, “I could always come with you. You don’t look like you’ve been to many food shops.”

“Rude.” If true. His mother usually went while he was at work, and when he wasn’t at work he usually just went to the local butchers or grocers or wherever mother sent him to that day. “I suppose. But after my mattress arrives. I knew it was going to rain.”

Which meant the pair of them were stuck waiting by the window most of the morning until a van pulled up, circling the street four times before a man got out no doubt checking the numbers. Draco ran out before he pulled away, eagerly snatching his mattress and telling Potter to stop being such a baby and help.

“If you didn’t want your slippers to get wet then you should have put your bloody shoes on.” It wasn’t like the mattress was opened up either, but it was still too long for him to comfortably get through the gate and the front door on his own.

“If you’d give me a second-”

“We don’t have a second-” 

“It’s got the plastic wrap on, just put it down it won’t get wet-”

“You don’t know that!” 

They got it upstairs eventually, Draco pushing his old mattress off in favour of his new. He’d have to wash his sheets just to be sure they weren’t contaminated by some magical strain of bed bugs, but things were finally starting to look up. Is what he would have said had he went to the shops on his own. Instead he went with Potter, which meant losing him half the time and the rest of it spent in aisles he had no idea even existed before this very moment. 

He hadn’t known food shops could be this big. So much variety too, and meals he didn’t even have to prepare himself. Did they have a microwave? 

“You’ll hate it,” Potter said, appearing like a spectre as he dumped a new load of food into their trolley. 

“You don’t know that.”

Potter gave him a look, “I hate it, and I grew up with scraps for the first half of my life. Trust me, put it back.”

He almost put it into the trolley just to be spiteful. But he supposed Potter knew more about this place than he did. Just this once. So instead he tried to find things he did know. Like vegetables. Maybe some cake too since that was actually right next to the vegetables and mother wasn’t around to tell him he couldn’t eat a full one on his own anymore.

He didn’t get anymore comments on his food choices, so Draco had to have done something right. Potter was right about them delivering too, meaning Draco’s hands were free, save the cake he insisted he could carry home separately. He definitely didn’t let Potter get any of it this time, ignoring the fork waving dangerously close to his ‘happy birthday’ icing to hide on his new mattress. 

It was a long day after that. Draco avoided Kreacher as he slipped down to do washing. He hid behind a door when he heard little house elf feet wander a little too close to where he was hanging his washing up. He lounged for a while, then realised the living room was disgusting and ended up lying in a cleanish looking spot in front of a window. 

“I was joking yesterday,” Potter said, a plate of something looking suspiciously like Draco’s cake on it as he stepped over Draco’s body. “Do you actually just lounge in patches of sunlight?”

“Shouldn’t you know that? You are my very own personal stalker.” The shop lady had said five, that was only an hour and a half away now. Urgh he was hungry. “Also, we both know you don’t know how to make a joke so I don’t know why you’d think I would have known that.”

“Ha ha,” got garbled up as he removed the evidence of his thieving. “And I didn’t stalk you.” He turned, then turned back, fork still hanging from his mouth, “And even if I was stalking you I had a good right to.”

Draco refused to be drawn into an argument. He knew Potter wasn’t trying to start one either, otherwise Potter would be foaming at the mouth and the pair of them would be tousling like school boys. So instead of going the usual route he would once have taken in school, Draco said instead, “It’s my charming personality isn’t it? I know you’re enamoured with me, but we have to draw a line somewhere.”

“Git,” Potter scoffed, wandering off to somewhere in the house.

Draco was first out, again, when the delivery driver pulled up. He was already chomping on one of his biscuits, dragging the last bag inside when Potter trudged down, the two of them figuring out where to put things now there were two of them instead of one. Kreacher wasn’t very helpful. He’d found the plates Draco had bought, and like Draco thought did not like them. But, like any good house elf, he wouldn’t remove them himself, especially if they were unused, so he resorted to dropping hints that Draco very much did not appreciate.

“What plates?” Potter asked.

“Stay out of this Kreacher,” Draco told him again when that damned thing tried climbing onto the bench to make a grab for them. “They’re mine and they’re staying. That’s not even good storage space.”

“Plates go in the cabinet,” Kreacher still insisted. “Mistress-”

“Mistress isn’t here and my plates go in the cupboard.”

“Master Draco should use the cupboard for his sweets. Plates must be on display.” So they could be accidentally smashed on their way or in a ‘cleaning accident’.

“There’s no way I’m putting my food up there. I can’t even reach it, and I’m taller than Potter so it’s better used for this.” 

It took some arguing, and eventually Potter stepping in, sending Kreacher off to do something he looked pervertedly happy about, but Draco’s plates stayed. He did have to show them to Potter however, Potter biting his lip and nodding, before putting them back with only a small snigger. “It’s fine,” Potter said, “Kreacher tries to throw out something of mine every other week. If he tries to again just send him off to polish something sentimental. He seems to calm down after a while.”

Draco nodded, finishing unpacking the last of his tins into the pantry. 

Dinner was a quiet affair after that. Well, almost quiet. Potter insisted on using Draco’s plates, and while he didn’t like the undercurrent of laughter every other bite, he did enjoy seeing a cartoon sun staring up at him when he’d finished eating. It reminded him that he wasn’t at home. That father wouldn’t be taking this off him, calling him a muggle lover or something worse.

He cleaned them himself, hiding them back in the top cupboard before telling Potter, “We’re painting next weekend,” and hiding out in his room.

Work was a little weird. For one, it was strange having breakfast with Potter in their uniforms. Even more was Potter asking him if he’d remembered his shin pads since Potter had forgotten his. That second one more because Draco knew exactly where Potter had left his shin pads at home. Like he could visualise it, and it wasn’t something he thought he’d ever do in regards to Potter.

Other than that things were fairly normal. Draco managed to get a nap at lunch, he did his plays and ran his laps, and only at the end of it did he notice that something was wrong. That something being, “Is everything okay?” Peters, not one of his teammates, Peters was pulling him aside to ask him that. 

Then it hit him, and Draco didn’t know how to take that question after that. He stuttered out a “Fine.” But on his way home he couldn’t help telling Potter, “Peters asked if I was alright. Like he cares.” Like he thought Draco might not be alright because his father was getting out of Azkaban. Like anything other than Draco defecting back to his dark ways was on the cards now the patriarch of the Malfoy family was rejoining society. 

“He knows you’re not a total pillock,” Potter told him. Which didn’t seem right again. What did was, “He also probably figures if he’s nice to you, you won’t come after him when you finally get your revenge on us lowly peasants.”

Draco nodded, that explanation settling his stomach. “Two more days.” 

Two more days that seemed to fly by as exhaustion finally had him sleeping through the night in his new home. Potter looked better to come Wednesday, but maybe that was because he’d finally shaved. Whatever the case, it didn’t feel like an extraordinary day when Thursday came. Draco woke up, he went to work, he napped, and then he went home. It was only at home that he realised father would be back home by now. Mother would have picked him up at noon. He would be in his usual chair right now. Or in bed. Either or he would be complaining. Screaming maybe because they still had money, they still had the family name so why were they living like muggles. Father hadn’t been there when the Ministry took their house elves for interrogation. They hadn’t been there when Draco and mother realised house elves had no problem confessing to things that went on in their masters' homes once their owners had been forced to free them. Father didn’t care that just the thought of someone else other than mother or him in their home had Draco wanting to be sick. 

Draco hoped mother got out of there fast. 


	9. Chapter 9

Friday bloomed with Draco looking over paint samples on his lunch break. He liked the blue. He really liked it, and was currently dropping hints that maybe they could paint more than one room in the house it to Potter. Friday also came with his teammates giving him a berth so wide he was sure their next game would be a piece of cake. The fear was well and truly back. Even Wood was giving him a few odd looks here and there throughout the day, Draco ignoring it all adamantly as he did what he was being paid to do.

At home, he pushed the blue even more until that Saturday they were taping down the hallway outside and Draco’s room to paint a nice pale blue. “It’s gonna make everything look cold,” Potter warned, sloshing the paint in a weird tray thing.

“I’ve grown up with cold all my life, trust me I don’t give a shit anymore.” Pale blue reminded him of outside. He would have suggested yellow, but yellow reminded him of Nagini’s eyes. Blue was better. 

“Fair enough.” 

They tore down the old wallpaper, Potter getting out an array of spells Granger had made for him to get rid of the damp and mould. It took until dark. Actually it still wasn’t finished even as dark came, but it looked decidedly nicer than it had before. Less a house Draco would find himself murdered in and one he could stand to look at for more than a few minutes at a time. 

Of course, with the fumes, and the fact Draco had gummed down his windows, that meant he couldn’t stay in his room that night. Instead Draco dragged his mattress into one of the spares and frankly had an all around bad night that ended up with him finishing his room by wandlight come morning. Potter didn’t comment. Well, he didn’t comment on the colour, the gum he had something to say about. “What about when it gets hot?”

“I’ll suffer.” and since Potter had no room to talk for when it came to suffering he left it at a look and dragging Draco to his own room to start taping that down.

Naturally, the sentimental idiot that Potter was, his room was going to be red. Gryffindor red. Much like the curtains that spanned his bed. A little dark for Draco’s tastes, but Potter was all for reliving good memories and if this was what did it for him then who was he to argue? It wasn’t like he was going to be sleeping in here after all. 

It was a little weird being in Potter’s private quarters. For one, it looked eerily reminiscent of what he believed the Gryffindor dorms to look like, sans a few beds. For another, he never expected Potter to have so much crap. They weren’t things in the general sense of it. Some of it was. But for the most part they were odd objects, some prank items from that Weasley store and more than a dozen stuffed owls all piled in a corner.

It dawned on Draco as he was moving one of those weird looking owls to somewhere else in the room, that Potter probably hadn’t purchased them. In fact, as he moved another, he spied a card attached to a wing. Fan mail. That explained it, and Potter being the sentimental idiot that he was wouldn’t think to put them somewhere else other than his room. 

He kept his comments to himself. Especially when he stumbled upon underwear he was sure that Weasley girl couldn’t afford. He had to maintain the peace, and riling Potter up about his female admirers would certainly nullify it. So he painted instead, and in the lull of repetitive motion he played through every single thing he would have said to Potter. Some of them were good insults too. If only his younger self could have read his mind right now, Potter would have been weeping in the halls. Something he may not want now, but in school, especially sixth year, he wouldn’t have minded sending Potter a little bit more off the rails.

They both ended up in the spare room as the fumes aired out of the house that night. It was both weird and strangely comforting to sleep with someone near. Sort of like having Teddy back. It wasn’t like him and Potter had never slept in the same room either. Third year came to mind as he was buckling down. Of Draco tossing every flavour beans over to Potter’s side of the third year spot in the Great Hall. They’d made faces at each other until McGonagall told them to go to sleep. More so because Potter was threatening to get his wand out after Draco asked whether the dementors would be paying him a visit tonight. A legit question as well, but one that even he could admit didn’t come out right at the time. Potter was already on edge too, which meant McGonagall probably had a right to come over and tell them off. 

Regardless, with Potter insisting on sleeping near the door, Draco actually managed to drop off to sleep. He was sure Potter’s death cries would wake him in time to defend himself should someone break in, a soothing thought to someone who had to rely on how near the peacock’s cries outside his window was to judge whether he should barricade himself in his wardrobe or not.

Dreams came eerily easily to him that night. So much so Draco wasn’t already wide awake when the sun came up. Meaning he actually woke to his alarm instead of beating it. A strange notion. One stranger than seeing Potter jump like he’d been hexed as soon as the noise penetrated his sleep. “Work,” Draco grumbled, eyes almost falling shut again.

“Work,” Potter agreed, the two of them taking a moment before sliding out of bed. Breakfast was had in agreeable silence. Up until an owl flew through the window. It dropped a letter onto Draco’s plate, another coming through with the paper as his own left. “Work?” Potter guessed.

Draco turned to the seal, eyes closing. “Father.”

“I thought your owl was brown.”

“It was.” He set the letter down. It wasn’t a howler, so Draco wasn’t going to read it. If mother wanted to get in touch with him she would have sent Andromeda’s owl, or hell rang since Potter had one of those muggle telephones too. “No doubt father’s buried it with the peacocks by now.” He didn’t want to think what father had done to mother. Not nearly because mother had told him not to think about it. Besides, “We have to go if we don’t want to be late.”

Potter was still staring after the birds. It took another prompting before he was fetching his boots alongside Draco, the two apparating into early morning exercise hell. Or, Potter was. As soon as Draco stepped inside the stadium Peters was handing him a letter, his father’s writing staring up at him and declaring his formal resignation as of today.

“I-”

“I know,” Peters waved off. “Trust me, I only accept resignations you’ve written yourself.” He just wanted Draco to be aware that Lucius had, in fact, started his attempts to ruin Draco’s life. “Go start your laps.”

He did, struggling to catch his breath at the end as he picked his broom up. He’d have to talk to Andromeda. Sooner rather than later too. Potter was going to have to teach him to use that telephone. As much as he hated it, Teddy had proven himself a fire hazard, and as desperate as Draco was to talk to his aunt he didn’t want to end up with a burned toddler. 

Thankfully Potter was on his side, for once. As soon as they got home he was correcting the way up the telephone went and dialling Andromeda’s number. At the end of it all, nothing much was said. Andromeda couldn’t do a lot. Mother wasn’t leaving, not yet, and since Lucius had come back the manor was on lockdown. The most she could do was go over at the weekend, meaning Draco was on babysitting duty. Something he would have relished in if he wasn’t living in the most hazardous house he’d ever seen.

“We’re going shopping on Thursday,” Draco told Potter when he was done. “Teddy’s coming over and we need baby proofing things.” He’d seen them advertised in the muggle shops when he went looking for plates. “Locks too,” maybe if they could limit Teddy’s range of motion he wouldn’t end up with a broken limb.

“Wait, Teddy’s coming?” Potter repeated. “But I haven’t got his room ready yet.”

“Well maybe you should have started on this dump before I got here.” It wasn’t Draco’s fault Potter was behind. “It’s fine, he’s used to sleeping in my room. But we need to make sure he stays out of the other rooms. I’m not having a trip to Mungo’s on top of all this stress.” It didn’t pass his notice that his letter was still sitting there at the kitchen table. As clean as Kreacher liked to pretend he was, even he wouldn’t touch Draco’s private correspondence. Especially not one from Lucius.

He was tempted to burn it. Maybe hand it over to the Ministry and see if they could find something nefarious in it. Eventually he hid it away, telling himself if something bad happened to mother maybe then he would open it. Otherwise it could wither away on the mantle.

Lucius didn’t like being ignored was the thing. Despite having only gotten out of Azkaban, not even a week ago, he was making Draco’s life a living hell. It turned out even being named and shamed a Death Eater twice over couldn’t stop him from having connections. Twice more Draco turned up to work and Peters told him of Lucius’s attempts to get him fired. One of them was a threatening letter from father, the other from one of his associates in the Quidditch league. Draco spent most of that lunch break beating bludgers.

Other things started arriving too. Letters from people Draco hadn’t heard of in years. His school ‘chums’ were trying to get in touch with him. Goyle, of all people, was the one to tell him Lucius had been in touch, telling him it would be most beneficial to renew their friendship for when the Malfoy name regains its favour in the wizarding world. Then the other letters. The ones from girls saying things about joining bloodlines and the like. 

He’d never burned so many letters in his life, and it seemed like every day more were coming. 

If Potter had an opinion he didn’t say it. Instead he steered Draco around a DIY shop, the two of them searching for things to keep Teddy alive. The locks were the first thing they figured out to put up. The wood was a little fragile when they drilled into it, but a few strengthening charms from Granger later and they held out. The baby gate was a whole other story. It was easy enough to put up, but actually using it was a bit of a challenge. In the end, they propped a few bags against it to keep it open, more so Potter wouldn’t end up falling down the stairs on one of his nightly haunts. It had happened once, and the memory, while funny, also hit home that if Potter got injured Draco was the only one there to help him. He’d also probably get the blame for injuring Potter as well, but the idea of performing first aid was what really shook him. 

Which reminded him, “Here,” he pinned the copy onto the fridge. “Healing spells. The ones on top are for scrapes. The ones on the bottom are directions for pain potions and the likes.” Like hell he wasn’t making sure Potter knew basic childcare aid. “If Teddy hurts himself, disinfect before you use the spell. I’d rather die than return him in poor condition.”

“Noted,” Potter nodded. 

Andromeda dropped Teddy off early Saturday morning. She didn’t stay long, just hugged him and Potter before promising to talk more when she came back. After that they had a bubbly toddler to look after. One who took one look at Kreacher and thought he was the best thing in the world. It was quite easy looking after Teddy after that. All Draco had to do was make sure Kreacher didn’t try and poison the poor boy, or lead him into any unstable parts of the house and that was that. 

He didn’t, of course, skimp out on all of his babysitting duties. They had a plan for the day, but until Potter managed to fix that damn gate upstairs Draco let Teddy do as he pleased. 

When it was fixed, the gate closing, and staying closed, Draco set the little tyke down. “Big job for you today Teddy bear,” he turned Teddy away from the gate he, no doubt, knew how to open, the maniacal genius that he was, even if Draco was praying he didn’t, and to the doors spread out in front of him. “That one’s mine, and that one’s uncle Harry’s.” Still weird to use Potter’s full name but, again, they needed to look like they were getting on for Teddy. “And your job today is to pick one for yourself.”

The prospect of having a whole other room to himself had Teddy sprinting off to the nearest door. Draco had to admit, if he ever went apartment hunting in the near future he would be bringing Teddy with him, that kid was ruthless. The first room smelled funny, which Draco agreed with, meaning Teddy didn’t like it. The second room had a big spider in it that looked fun, but uncle Ron said they were bad, so despite the good floorplan Teddy was zilching that one too. The third was okay, but not as good as the second, which meant, broom in hand, and a pot on Teddy’s head in case the spider fell onto him, Draco was stuck getting the damn thing out. 

“It’s getting away!” Teddy squealed, pointing to where the spider was crawling even further onto the ceiling.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” He had enough experience smushing them put it that way, and, sure enough, he managed to get it off the ceiling and out of the window with a few good shakes. Now he just had to pray that it hadn’t laid any eggs and they would be golden. “Right,” he set the broom to the side, “Done. Why don’t you and me see if uncle Harry’s got those paint samples ready huh?”

“Painting!” He still had his pot turned helmet on as he ran into Potter’s legs, the impact sending Draco into near hysterics as Teddy demanded, “Samples! Samples now.”

Thus was their day. As soon as Teddy picked the most awful shade of orange alive they bundled him up and took him to the shop, Draco sneaking in a few sweets as they got to the checkout. The painting itself was a disaster. That being, it was much more fun doing it with Teddy than it had been with Potter alone. In the first five minutes alone Teddy managed to get paint on every part of him that wasn’t clothed. His hands were like orange bombs after that, swiping everything in sight, and Draco didn’t have the heart to banish it away from the floors. Potter ended up just as covered in paint as Teddy by supper time. Mainly because Teddy forgot he actually had paint all over him as he tugged on Potter’s trouser leg or hung from his hips demanding attention. 

Thankfully the excitement managed to knock Teddy out. It was easier than it had ever been to scrub the paint remnants from his skin and tuck him into bed. Even Draco was tired, yawning as he locked the other rooms up and checked the baby gate was still unmovable. “If you fall down the stairs yell for Kreacher,” Draco told him, peering past Potter to make sure Teddy was actually asleep. Sometimes he tried to trick Draco and sneak down for something to eat.

“Of course,” Potter nodded. “God knows what you’d do to me.”

“Probably not kill you,” Draco left out there. “I mean, I’m pretty sure you’re immortal. Otherwise I can’t explain how you’ve made it this far in life.” A joke, maybe, but Draco sort of had a point. For all his idiocy, Potter was still here, and that itself was a miracle twice over.

“I’m pretty sure you said dumb luck,” Potter recalled. “Or someone did. I think that pretty much sums it up.”

Draco hummed, lingering again, a little reluctant to leave Teddy unattended. “You’re not going downstairs are you?”

Potter met his eyes, “You’re worried about,” he nodded his head back, “aren’t you?”

“It’s not without good reason.” Even forgetting the more recent things that had happened in their lives. “Kreacher serves purebloods. I don’t know what sort of bloodline Lupin came from, but even if he were a pureblood, Andromeda being stricken from the family would have Kreacher wanting Teddy out.”

“You don’t trust him?” Trust Potter, he meant. It was Potter he served under now after all.

Still, “Some things can’t be unlearned Potter. And Kreacher’s old. If he thinks he can sneak his way back into a pureblood’s favour I have no doubt he will. He did before.”

“Times were different.” 

“Not to him,” Draco said. “Wizards are always fighting. Someone’s always being killed. It’s not important to him the politics of his masters, just who his masters are.”

“He’s pretty harmless,” Potter said, eyes drifting back to Teddy, “But I’ll keep an eye out. Kreacher was always mean to Sirius after all.” So why not a helpless toddler half breed. “Can you go fetch some biscuits? And my book?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Just this once.” 

He checked throughout the night to make sure Kreacher wasn’t lurking around with a sack and knockout potion. Especially when he heard Potter on the landing. “I’m allowed to pee,” Potter grumbled at him, slinking past as Draco took up sentry. He looked a little grateful for all his grumbling when he came back.

Breakfast that day was had at the ripe old time of six in the morning. Teddy was a flurry of energy from the get go, Draco bolting up in bed when he heard a scream echo through the house, Teddy not long afterwards demanding Potter to get up, get up now it’s too boring to be in bed. Draco honestly envied Teddy’s enthusiasm to be awake. He felt half dead sliding into his usual seat at the table. Far too tired to even know what Teddy was saying, just that it was loud, enthusiastic and had something to do with rainbows.

He probably should have been paying attention since Teddy, later, once Draco realised he should have put Teddy’s clothes in the wash last night, that Teddy was talking about painting a rainbow in his room. Or a unicorn. Or a niffler. Or a whole army of nifflers. Needless to say, at the first opportunity he had, Teddy escaped his grasp and ended up covered in paint, one hand smudging orange on his face, while the other painted his rendition of a niffler onto the last bit of green on his wall.

“We’re going to have to bath him again aren’t we?” Potter groaned.

“I did it last night.” And was rather glad about it now. He’d never had to bath Teddy before when he had a full tank of energy. 

Somehow, and Draco wasn’t sure how, but somehow they managed to have Teddy looking presentable by the time Andromeda came for lunch. She didn’t immediately turn her nose up at the house either, in fact kicking one of the plugs Draco had made sure to babyproof with an approving nod. “I take it you’re remodelling?” She asked Potter.

He shrugged, leading their small party into the kitchen, “Figured it would give me something to do. Draco’s the one who got all the baby stuff though.” and who was currently dragging Teddy out of one of his no go areas in the house. 

Potter got the tea ready, made the smalltalk, did everything a good host could while Draco tried to reign his panic in. Andromeda would have looked more dishevelled if something was wrong. She probably wouldn’t even be here if something was wrong. Or mother would be with her. So mother should be fine. She had to be.

“Draco sit down,” Andromeda sighed, “I can feel you worrying.”

“Well I think I have a good right to,” he sat anyway, accepting the cup set before him.. “Is she- she’s okay?”

“She’s well,” which wasn’t an answer at all. Someone could be well in body but not in mind. Andromeda knew that. Tonk’s she might go by now but she was brought up a Black, she knew wordplay just like the rest of them. “Your father’s keeping her busy.”

“Busy how?” He grit out.

Andromeda stirred her tea a few more times. “It’s a bit of an adjustment, coming home to a house with no house elves. Your mother has had to educate him on a few of the things you’ve already learned.”

“Right.” Yes. That made sense. He supposed he could see mother’s point of view now. Get him accustomed to the house, then leave. That had to be her plan. “How long did she say it was going to take her?” If it was soon, Draco had best start looking for a place for them. 

“I don’t know,” Andromeda said, giving him a look like she knew what he was thinking. “And you shouldn’t worry about it anyway. You’re here to get away from all that. So focus on your work, since I know you have a game on Wednesday, and leave your parents to me.” She took a sip, remembering, “And burn those letters. Your father’s in a foul temper.  Honestly, you shouldn’t have to read it.”

He nodded, Andromeda asking after the pair of them after that. A conversation Potter could easily fill as Draco got his last few minutes with Teddy in. Mother would be fine. She had to be. She was all father had left. He wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t sell her out. Not until he had some stability beneath his feet again, and mother was smart enough to get out this time. 

Andromeda and Teddy left after an hour, Draco cracking his neck as the stress of looking after a toddler left him. He needed a bath. Or some kind of hot towel, settling for the latter when the bathtub still made his skin crawl, even in this house. Actually, especially in this house. It was almost eerily similar to the one in Malfoy manor. He wouldn’t be surprised if every pureblood house had the same bathroom layout. It felt like something they would do.

The rest of the day was mainly spent with Draco splayed out on his bed, dozing in between listening to Potter try and open the babygate again. It had a brick keeping it open that next morning, so Draco supposed Potter had won that battle as he went down for breakfast. It was all rather quiet that morning. No letters. No paper either, Potter instead setting a number of letters aside for the post office later. 

That was about the only peace they had that day however. As soon as they got to work it was conditioning this and strengthening that. They were almost to the finals, and Peters would be damned if they didn’t come out of this as winners. So much so Draco didn’t really remember the lead up to their next game. It was all sort of a blur, the time they had at home seeming miniscule before they were back on the pitch being screamed at to go faster.

Nevertheless, he wasn’t as zoned out as he had been the last game they played. Father was out now, and he’d do what he liked, just like Draco was free to do what he liked. Like go out and be almost knocked off his broom for four hours. “I swear Potter if you don’t catch the snitch in the next half I’m going to kill you,” Draco hissed, setting the ice pack harder on his arm. Bloody bludger had skimmed him but even that hurt like hell. “It’s not even a threat at this point. All I have to do is close that damn baby gate and you’ll go flying down the stairs.”

“It’s not my fault Peters wants another twenty points,” Potter snapped back. He hadn’t come out of this game unscathed either. His glasses were cracked after one of the other team's chasers mistook him for someone else. Draco had barely seen the elbow in the face Potter had gotten, but he’d heard it, loud and clear, when the commentator announced it. “And if you fucking dare close that gate Malfoy-”

“Potter!” Peters called over before he could finish, Draco nursing his arm for the last few minutes they had. He prayed to Merlin himself that Peters was telling Potter to catch that bloody snitch as the music started up and people grabbed their brooms. 

It turned out Peters wanted forty points instead of twenty. Enough to secure their place in the semi final, which Draco appreciated after a day or so of recovering from the two hours it took to get those forty points. They didn’t even celebrate afterwards. Everyone was done in, Andromeda merely apparating them back to Grimmauld when Draco found her in the crowd. That was fine. If Draco were honest he’d rather they celebrate once all these games were over, that way they could go big on either celebrating his win, or letting him cry out the loss.

Unfortunately, with teams being knocked out left right and centre, the usual recovery time between games was nonexistent. Meaning, after the singular day off to make sure no one needed Mungo’s, they were back on the pitch training for a game on Monday. Monday! That was literally a weekend away.

The odd timing of it had Peters taking a vote amongst everyone asking if they were willing to give up their weekend for an extra few days off after their final game. Even with the bone deep weary ache in Draco’s body he knew their next game was against the Harpies, and he’d be damned if he was losing to them because he wanted a few days of lounging around the house. It wasn’t like he actually caught up on his sleep on the weekends either, so he was all for giving up two days off. The others felt the same, even if it did mean Draco woke Sunday morning on that moldy sofa in the living room. 

“We’re gonna win, we’re gonna win, we’re gonna win,” Wood chanted beneath his breath. 

Draco circled his arms, forcing off the sleepiness that came with early games. He checked his broom, listening to Peters hand out plays which, thankfully were, “Score if you can. If not, make sure they can’t and Potter, be as fast as you can getting that snitch.”

Potter nodded, their names starting to be called.

It was awful. For him. For the others he wasn’t so sure about, but since Draco was dodging bludgers, elbows, even feet as they more or less attacked him, not even trying to knock him off they were actually getting hits in, he definitely didn’t enjoy that game. His nose was bleeding by the time Potter caught the snitch, Draco pinching it as he tried to get off his broom. Tried, because the next thing he was aware of something had caught his foot and sent him into the dirt. 

“Oi!” He caught a glimpse of the Harpies beater before Peters was shielding him. “The fuc-”

“Up we get.” Wood got him under the arm, dragging him as soon as he was upright to the showers.

“I’m not just imagining they’re mad at me am I?” he sighed, angling his nose down again. The blood looked to be slowing.

“You don’t read the Prophet, do you?” Wood snorted, batting Draco’s hand away to shove a tissue on his face. 

“Potter’s stopped getting them.” Since he definitely wouldn’t subscribe to them again.

“Well,” Wood batted him off again, taking over squeezing Draco’s nose. “Your dad’s been in it. Apparently he’s been sighted with your mother in Diagon.”

“Ah.” that explained it. The only reason father would be in Diagon would be to see who had escaped the cull. He had to know who was out to build his reputation back up again, and everyone knew Lucius Malfoy had shady contacts. One appearance of him in Diagon would set people talking. Would set rumours up again, probably already building father’s reputation up without him having to do anything really. But also proving a fact that some people didn’t change, and if Lucius was out and up to no good, Draco’s mother with him, then Draco must be turning bad again too.

“Skeeter’s a stirrer. But her fanbase is massive. If she says your dad’s up to no good then there’s nothing we can do to change people’s minds,” Wood said. He stood, dumping the tissue. “I’d just ignore it. It’ll die down soon enough. Arms,” Draco lifted his arms, Wood helping him get them actually upright before he raised the first few centimeters of Draco’s robes. It was already going purple. “‘Sides, you’re living with Potter. I haven’t said anything, but I’m sure someone will. As soon as people find out, I’m sure they’ll soften up to you again.”

He grunted, hissing when Wood pulled gently on his robes again, the two of them working his arms out one by one until he was free. There was a chorus of ‘oof’s when he was, Draco gladly accepting whatever help his teammates offered when he found it almost torture to put his arms back down again.

At least they won. Which meant Peters was in a good mood. He didn’t immediately pull Draco from the lineup either, which meant he was actually playing in his first final game. A dream come true. Apart from the fact the final was on Friday, which meant, again, no days off. 

He was strung thin by the time he was, again, donning his uniform for a game. The odds were for them since last year's winner had been knocked out of the semi finals. Not to mention they had Potter. Everyone was of the notion that Potter simply couldn’t lose. Draco would like to draw their attention to quite a few games he’d played back at school, but, well, he supposed even he was sort of hoping Potter’s luck would drag them through this. 

It was a simple game plan, again. Potter needed to get the snitch as fast as he could while the rest of them did their best to either get more points than the other team, or stop the other team from getting any points whatsoever. Considering the boos started up as soon as his name was announced, Draco was beginning to think this was going to be another hard won game. 

Thankfully, these days, he was all for hard work.

The other team wouldn’t shake his hand. Even with his mark covered it felt like it was on display, everyone looking down to where they knew it was lying. He had half a mind to get it out, to scare them into leaving him alone. But mother had made him promise not to throw away his chance, and Draco knew, if someone so much as caught a glimpse of his dark mark they’d think he’d turned. He’d be forced into retirement before he could even add a title to his name. So he let them sneer, accepting that this had always been coming, and mounted his broom.

It took a while, this time, for them to start laying into him. Thankfully Draco was ready this time. He knew what was happening, and easily used their aggression to distract them from the rest of the pitch. It felt rather like being back at school. Only instead of taunting Potter on the Quidditch pitch, he was taunting well paid professionals who definitely knew a few dirty moves Potter wouldn’t have dreamed of using in third year.

The snitch was proving elusive since half time was announced around the third hour in. Thankfully, they were eighty points up. Mainly due to, “Malfoy, whatever you’re doing keep doing it. Those idiots are spending more time chasing you around than playing. Wood-” Draco had the bruises to prove it too. He was just thankful they didn’t have their wands.

“Malfoy,” Potter called, eyes still on the snitch even at half time.

“What?” It seemed to be heading their way. If they were lucky, it would still be on their side of the pitch when the whistle blew again. Knowing the referee however, they’d wait until it was halfway, as was fair and all that.

“Their seeker, he’s riding right up my arse. You think you could feint him as soon as the whistle blows?”

Draco eyed the snitch again. It was getting a little higher, a little harder to see. “Depends on whether you’re certain you can get the snitch.” He wasn’t risking another enemy if he didn’t have to.

Potter stood back, nodding, head tilting as the snitch disappeared somewhere close to halfway.

The whistle blew, everyone mounting once more. He spied the seeker easily, a slight man Draco remembered from earlier in the year. He wasn’t looking at Draco, which actually made this all the more better. As soon as the quaffle was thrown Draco made a beeline for him, the chasers who, before, had been happy to chase him, now giving way. A shout was called up, the seeker finally looking, eyes growing wide as Draco flew full throttle towards him. He dove up before they collided, and pretty quickly had four players on his tail, but it was all worth it when the whistle blew, not even five minutes in, the scream going up that Potter had caught the snitch, Puddlemere had won.

He’d never flown so fast to the ground, a little because he was happy, more so because the other team looked absolutely murderous when they realised they’d been played. He quickly jogged over to the rest of his team, engulfing himself in the huddle as everyone celebrated. There was laughing in his ear, Wood was crying, even Potter was jumping like he was eleven all over again, Draco quickly joining in as the win sank in. He’d just won a league. He was now a proper professional. He could put on his CV for sure now that he had played for a winning team. 

They didn’t even make it back to the changing rooms. Everyone simply accioed their clothes over, Peters telling them to fetch the firewisky as news reporters and families alike flooded from the stands to come see them.

Draco very quickly found himself with a squealing Teddy. He wasn’t really old enough to understand the concept of what had happened, but he knew everyone being happy around him was a good thing, so he happily let Draco pick him up and plant fifty kisses to his chubby cheeks because, “We won!”

“We won!” Teddy repeated, hands going up in the air. 

“Where’s mother?” Draco asked, Andromeda finding herself empty handed as Harry was dragged from her and over to an army of redheads.

“By the stands. Your father’s here,” she warned.

Damn. 

“She’s taking him home,” Andromeda promised. “She told me to tell you she’s visiting on Sunday.”

“Sunday?” he could do Sunday. He’d still be happy Sunday. “Yeah, no, that’s fine.” Definitely fine because she was coming to visit him. Just her. “Are we still going out?” He could definitely go for something nice and not made by himself tonight.

“I think your friends are having a party,” Andromeda hinted at.

“They’re always having a party.” Especially when the finals drew nearer like they had been. “We don’t have to.” if she had other things to do that was fine. His cheeks were slapped, Draco blowing a raspberry against Teddy’s face.

“Let me check with Harry,” she said, disappearing into the crowd.

Draco bounced Teddy on his hip, the two of them giggling as the giddiness washed over him anew. He’d won. “Who’s your favourite Quidditch player then?” 

“You,” Teddy answered immediately.

“That’s right,” he blew another raspberry, “me.” Teddy’s hair changed on the next one, going from his usual black to bright pink. “Pink suits you.”

“I like it blue,” called out before Teddy was snatched and Potter was swinging him around. “What colour do you like Ted?”

“Boo!” It turned blue too. An awful neon blue that was a little hard to look at. Even Potter was averting his already damaged eyes away. 

They wandered back over, “Ron and Hermione are taking me out. I’ll be out tonight and tomorrow so you’ll have the house to yourself. Not that you can’t come,” Harry hurried, “Mrs Weasley’s planned a big party.”

Ooh, “Pass.” Hard pass. “My mother will be by on Sunday, so don’t bother her when you stumble home.”

Potter gave him a look, then handed Teddy over and skipped off back to his friends. 

It took near half an hour for them to get to a restaurant. Mrs Weasley appeared to be a talker, and kept Andromeda far longer than Draco’s stomach appreciated. But he got his celebratory meal in the end. What’s better, Andromeda invited him around hers, which meant an evening of playing with Teddy and his toys before passing out in a house that didn’t make his skin crawl.

He slept a long time. Long enough for Teddy to be braying at his door, Andromeda shooing him off as Draco struggled to lift his eyes open. His whole body ached when he sat up, the adrenaline finally wearing off enough for him to feel the bruises from the match. It was torture rolling out of bed, but he did it. 

Thankfully Andromeda had some salve to put on, as well as a warm breakfast, or lunch as it was. He snoozed a little more with Teddy come nap time, before finally venturing home and sleeping the rest of Saturday away.


	10. Chapter 10

Potter arrived before mother. He wasn’t quiet at all when he came in, waking Draco from a rather lovely eleven hour nap wherein he was pretty certain he’d been using Kreacher as a quaffle. The door slammed, then the Potter’s boots thumped up the stairs. Quite frankly if Draco hadn’t known they’d parted on good terms he’d have thought he’d done something. Usually Potter was only this riled after Draco had insulted one of his friends. Potter’s bedroom door slammed, the sound of heavy boots hitting the wall followed before peace was, once again, restored to the house. 

He blinked both of his eyes separately, making sure he was actually awake, before sliding out of bed and to the bathroom. He probably should have been annoyed at being woken, he would have been any other weekend actually. But Potter had, unknowingly, done him a favour, Draco just finishing pulling a fresh pair of socks on when the door went downstairs. 

Mother was as radiant as she’d ever been, kissing his cheeks and hugging him tight as she reminded him, “You won! Oh I can’t believe it,” she pinched his cheeks, Draco trying to close the door behind her. “My son. I am definitely lording this over Andromeda.”

He didn’t even try and fight a smile, letting her fuss over him until he had to break away to fetch her some tea. He rather wished he hadn’t. As soon as he turned around it felt like whatever elation they’d spent talking about the Quidditch match was gone. All that was left now the fact she’d been there, with father, that father was back and she was still living with him. There. In that house. 

He set her tea in front of her, sipping his own cup. He wasn’t all too sure where to start. He knew where he wanted to, but he also didn’t want to broach the topic of father’s opinions when they could be using this opportunity to talk about better things. Things like, “How’s Potter?” his mother, too, looking like she wanted to put off giving some answers for a while.

“He’s a bit of a pain to live with, but I’m surviving.” Really they mostly kept out of each other’s ways. Unless they were painting, their weeks were spent alone in their rooms, occasionally seeing each other for dinner. Mostly they saw each other over breakfast, and even then they rarely made conversation. More so from exhaustion this week than anything else. “We’re redecorating. Maybe you could come around and help us some time. I know you know how to get mold out of walls.” and they definitely needed those spells. Granger’s were okay, but mother knew the heavy duty stuff.

“Maybe in a few weeks,” Mother agreed, eyes glancing around the kitchen which Draco honestly didn’t even know what plans Potter had for this place. “Which room do you have?”

“One of the guest rooms.”

Mother nodded, she, out of the pair of them, probably remembering a time when this house had been properly inhabited. What sort of horrors, he wondered, lived behind within these walls. “Is Krea-”

He covered her mouth, shaking her head, “He’s old but he’s prompt mother. And yes,” he sat back. “He keeps trying to make me dinner.” and smash his plates. Potter had taken to hiding them in creative places when they’d both come down one morning to find a stool perched on the bench, Kreacher stretching up to try and reach them.

“Best be careful with him,” she advised.

He nodded, his fingers jittery on the edge of his cup. “What did he think then?” he finally bit out.

“He was very proud,” mother answered. A clever answer really. Just because father was proud did not mean he was happy. Draco had brought glory to the family name after all, and while father probably wanted Draco to do something else with his life, there was nothing wrong with being in the winning team in any job. “He’s happy you look well.”

Which had to be a lie. Father thought they were all going down after all. Seeing Draco alive, well and actually thriving in a job he loved was definitely not going to make him happy. Maybe if he’d been put on house arrest. But Azkaban. “You shouldn’t have to be there with him.”

“We are still married,” she reminded him. Even if she had started seeing other people.

“You don’t want that.”

“Draco,” she warned. 

There was a heavy beat of silence as Draco realised he wasn’t going to get any real answers from her. Not about this anyway. Mother was going to keep what happened between her and father until long after she’d left him. If she left him. Draco wouldn’t put it past her to fall for father’s old tricks, and maybe once upon a time he would have been happy at the idea of his parents getting back together. That was before he’d seen what his father truly was. He didn’t love them. Not anymore. He hadn’t loved them since the Dark Lord showed up at their house, what, four years ago now? Five? 

“Will you be going around Andromeda’s for Christmas?” mother asked.

“Probably.” It wasn’t that far off these days, and the prospect of presents and sleeping in front of Andromeda’s television again filled the rest of mother’s visit. 

Kreacher appeared at some point, as if he was drawn like a magnet to anything that so much as radiated pureblood energy. He tripped over his own feet helping mother into her coat, promising her she need only ask and Kreacher would be there to serve her. It went to show how much loyalty he had to Potter that he was saying this. Mother sent a pointed look his way as if he didn’t know it too, kissing his cheek one last time before leaving. 

A rather uneventful visit all things considered.

Work that next day consisted of them all lining up in their freshly washed uniforms, standing for hours on end as photographers got their team photo. One for the prophet, one for Peters, some lesser known tabloid wanting anyone remotely good looking for an interview. Witch Weekly, he heard one reporter say as they attempted to drag Potter off. It was all very dull. But it meant he didn’t have to get on a broom, so Draco gladly suffered through his eyes being blinded by flashes and people asking so many questions he honestly couldn’t make out a single one from the crowd.

Peters made a speech when they’d all left. Hugging his team photo to his chest he told them how proud he was of them. How beautifully they’d flown. How majestic they’d soared through the air to their victory, and that they were a shoe in for knockouts after New Years. Knockouts because the World Cup was starting up again, which meant England needed a team, and who better, in Peters’ eyes, than his own to lead them to victory.

If Wood hadn’t been crying halfway through he definitely was now. Draco heard Potter snickering as he told Lindsey it had always been Wood’s dream to play in the World Cup. Which meant it wasn’t only Peters they would be hearing next season. Draco could already feel his eardrums bleeding.

He couldn’t help being a little excited too. It was still a longshot, who knew what the next season would bring, but it was a possibility, and that was good enough for Draco.

They were dismissed for the entire week, Draco hearing word about another party being thrown as he picked up his broom. His hands couldn’t help twisting the handle as he thought about an entire week stuck in Grimmauld. Home was okay. Home he could just find mother, or lounge about on the grass outside. Grimmauld didn’t have enough room to practice flying. They needed food, but that would only take one day up. Not even the full day either. Maybe he should find something to do in Teddy’s room. Look at beds or children’s stuff or something that got him out.

Potter seemed to have the same idea since he was up bright and early the next morning too. 

“Off to the Weasley’s?” Draco asked, falling into his usual chair. He snatched Potter’s last slice of toast before putting two more in the toaster.

Potter watched it go with only a frown. “No.” He flicked to another page of a new newspaper Draco vaguely remembered hearing about before. “Thought I might sort out the living room.”

“Good luck.” Draco would offer to help but he wanted out. Way out. 

Potter waited a beat, eyes flicking up like he was waiting for Draco to add onto that. Then, “If you find me unconscious when you come back, assume whatever killed me is coming after you next.”

“Noted.” 

He did not envy Potter that day. He was already cursing when Draco stepped outside, and was still cursing when Draco got back later that day, arms laden with bags, toys and a few receipts from a furniture store he got lost and had a subsequent mental breakdown inside of. The living room looked… he wouldn’t say better, but there was definitely a less murdery vibe when he stepped inside. Not a lot, but enough to be noticeable. 

Potter looked like he’d given up, lying, starfished out as he turned over a set of papers. He must have slept down there since Draco didn’t hear him come up. He was also still there when he actually grew worried and checked that next morning. Not because he cared for Potter or anything. But, again, should anything happen to Potter whilst Draco was present in this house, everyone would automatically assume it was his fault. He’d avoided Azkaban once, he wasn’t sure he would be so lucky to do so again.

Potter wasn’t dead, thankfully. Instead he was knocking over one of the sofas with his foot, his wand zapping whatever creepy crawly had decided it could live rent free in this place. There was a lot of that the rest of the day. A lot of magical bangs and Potter yelping. Draco went outside after the fourth one nearly sent him under his bed. He wasn’t going to start pretending he was brave, not this far down his life. Draco didn’t like loud noises. He particularly didn’t like magical loud noises because, in his experience, it usually meant someone was being tortured. So he went outside into the pitiful excuse of a garden Grimmauld had and napped in the sun for a while.

“Like a fucking cat,” woke him up, Draco spying the tail end of Potter’s dressing gown disappearing inside.

He stretched in the grass, rolling until he found another warm patch and dozing off again. 

Wednesday found him food shopping. Or guarding the trolly while Potter went and fetched them stuff., mainly flicking through a cook book, trying to draw some inspiration that wasn’t limited to pasta and lasagne sheets if he was honest. Like he thought, food shopping didn’t even cover half the day, the pair of them knowing by now what they were and weren’t going to eat when it came to seven on an evening and the pair of them were too exhausted to even pick up a spoon nevermind cook. Which meant they were back well before evening fell.

Draco ended up sorting through his wardrobe the rest of the day, helpfully leaving his cast offs in front of Potter’s door with a note on top telling him to burn whatever monstrosities were waiting in his own. Potter didn’t follow through on his instructions. He did, however, show up that next morning in a shirt that didn’t sag so low down his neck he was practically half nude. Still, the fact at all he was wearing a shirt that wasn’t his own was suspicious in his own right. “Going out?” Draco ventured.

Sure enough Potter nodded. “Hermione found out I had the week off. I shouldn’t be back until dark.”

Wedding stuff then. “Give them my condolences.”

“I think you mean congratulations.”

“I said what I said,” Draco muttered, stuffing the last piece of toast in his mouth. He gave Granger and Weasley another three years, four if they had a baby. Come to think of it maybe that was the reason for their nuptials. He’d never liked Granger, but even he was starting to feel a little bad for her. Weasley came from a big family, no doubt he’d want one of his own, and Granger didn’t look like the type of girl who’d like to play mother all day. 

Potter gave him a dark look, but thankfully kept his mouth shut. 

It was a long week put it that way. Between finding reasons to be outside, then finding the errands he ran didn’t take as long as he thought they would, Draco, more often than not, found himself sitting out in Grimmauld’s pathetic garden wasting his life away. He sometimes wondered, especially when the sky grew dark and the rain started to fall, if Potter still had his school books. Not the ones from their earlier years, Draco still had his own, but the ones for last year. He barely remembered his seventh year. Most of it was spent flitting between the manor and school. Draco had the mark, therefore Draco didn’t need to be in full time education. Especially if word got back to his aunt Bella that he wasn’t performing as well as some of the other students were in how to torture first year classes.

He knew they wouldn’t let him take his N.E.W.T’s. If he was fully honest Draco had rather hoped he could have taken them his seventh year before all of, well, all of everything went down. Bella took care of that however. As soon as she realised she’d let Potter go, that Draco had let Potter go, he’d been confined to the manor. It was only when she heard Potter might be making an attempt to get into Hogwarts that he was allowed back. 

It wasn’t like they did much that year. Nothing truly practical anyway. The most he learned were dark curses. Maybe a bit of first aid when Flitwick and McGonagall sometimes combined their classes to show the best way to cool a burn or heal a cut. Draco would have liked to know how to stop the jitters after the cruciatus was cast, but even Pomphrey, when he asked, didn’t know how to stop his limbs from spasming in phantom pain. Nothing but time, she’d said. 

They’d probably learned proper stuff last year. Things Draco had been promised in fifth when the talk of further education and the choice to stay on was drilled into their heads. He wondered what he would have made of himself if he’d been allowed to go back. Maybe not allowed, since they hadn’t explicitly stated he couldn’t. But if he could have gone without people talking about him, knowing that he was part of the reason their mothers, father’s, siblings or cousins weren’t with them right now. If he didn’t have to fear that someone was going to slit his throat in his sleep. If he actually had the attention span to learn instead of being so spaced out the only wizarding career he could see for himself was something in sport. 

Not that he hated his job. Quidditch was a dream come true.  _ The _ dream come true. But it had always been a long shot. It still felt like a long shot even now, two years on. He still had to think of after anyway. After his prime had passed and he needed to start looking for other career options. He hoped his name might be out of the mud enough he could find something decent. Maybe a potions job, or even something simple like looking after owls. That last one sounded pretty nice. He had experience looking after birds as well. They’d probably want a Care of Magical Creatures N.E.W.T however.

He slumped further in the doorway, a drop of rain splashing onto his nose.

Monday came with hangovers and sleepless nights. Whatever good mood Peters had dismissing them had long gone as he’d partied out his victory. He also, like the rest of them, were starting to see that the New Years wasn’t actually that far off, and if they wanted to be good enough to even stand a chance at knockouts they were going to have to start practicing. So gone were the compliments about how beautifully they’d flown. Right now, all Peters had to tell them was that they were lucky. “Damn lucky the lot of you. If Malfoy hadn’t been distracting half the team who knows how that game would have went. We need to be better, faster, more efficient Potter when I tell you to catch the snitch at the first opportunity you’re given.” He insulted them individually for a good four hours before telling them to stretch and run laps. Draco was always glad he didn’t drink when he found himself here. Running laps was bad enough on it’s own with three hours of sleep under his belt. A hangover on top? He did not envy some of his teammates.

It was all familiar stuff after that. Conditioning work they would need to keep up over the holidays. Since that’s what this was. Peters knew he had to give them Christmas off. Two weeks as well. That didn’t mean he couldn’t set them homework, and if they wanted to still hold their positions come New Years they would be doing push ups and sit ups and laps and whatever else Peters told them to do until they met up again.

Draco went hunting come that weekend. He couldn’t practice his flying at the manor, nor could he do it at Grimmauld, which meant he needed somewhere else to throw a quaffle about for a few hours over Christmas. He found a few good spots. He found a few more when he reasoned he could probably use muggle football pitches if he went after dark. He jotted a few down before going to a muggle clothes shop and buying himself some running gear that wouldn’t make him catch frostbite. It was the one downside to living in a muggle street. Everytime he went out with his robes on, be it to fetch the shopping in or chase an owl out of one of the trees he got odd looks from the neighbours. He didn’t really care about their opinions, but one rumour about a wizard with blond hair looking like he was causing trouble and the Ministry would be arresting him on the spot. 

He also, maybe, didn’t like the way their elderly neighbour would tut at him. It reminded him a bit of McGonagall when she caught him making Potter Stink’s badges after curfew.

Around the beginning of December, Draco kept waking to find more and more letters delivered to him. A stark contrast to last year where the only letter he got was from his Aunt telling him Teddy would very much like that new toy if Draco was passing a toy shop in the near future. While he still did get Teddy’s Christmas list, Andromeda circling which ones Potter and he could choose to get, a lot of them were from other people. People his father had been in contact with trying to grow the family name again. 

Pansy. Astoria. Daphne. A lot of girls telling him they were looking forward to seeing the renovated Malfoy manor. There were hints, here and there, of dates and parents talking. Things that made his blood curl as he hurled them into the fire. Greg’s joined too. Greg had never been the brightest and it bloody showed even now. Theo he didn’t know why was writing in the first place. It wasn’t like they’d spoken a lot during school. Blaise was the only one that didn’t make his skin crawl. Mainly because it only had a few lines,  _ ‘Paris is boring. Hope you’re doing well. Have a good Christmas if I don’t see you.’ _

He was tempted to write back. But Draco didn’t believe for one moment that Blaise wasn’t still talking to a lot of Draco’s former classmates. One word of him replying to one letter and he’d soon find even more on his table. 

“So this dog-”

“Scooby,” Potter nodded, the two of them making another tour around the aisles. 

“This Scooby. He solves mysteries in a van. And these mysteries are usually supernaturally related, but there’s never any supernatural causes,” Draco muddled out.

“Pretty much.” Potter stopped, dragging a rather large brown dog looking thing from one of the shelves. “And since I, obviously, know more about this, I’m giving him Scoob.”

“Unfair,” Draco muttered, turning his attention back to the list. “Fine. I’ll get him a tea party set then.” Maybe teach him a little etiquette too. Three was never too young.

They walked to the checkout, Draco checking three times he had the right muggle money before paying. He’d have to hide the tea party set from Kreacher. No doubt he’d think Draco was trying to sneak more unsanctioned cutlery into the house if he caught a glimpse of it. At least Potter had those damn owl things to hide the dog in. 

“Will you be gone for Christmas then?” Draco asked, the two of them heading out and to another shop. With the way Peters was scheduling them, this was their last free weekend before they had two weeks off and so much homework to do Draco wasn’t sure when he was going to fit in lazing about the house. 

“Probably,” Potter agreed. “Molly puts on a spread. But I’m popping around Andromeda’s on Christmas day. Won’t be until later though.” They passed a few necklaces, Draco backpedalling when a nice ruby caught his eye. Mother would like that. It looked eerily reminiscent to the one she’d had a few years ago. The one aunt Bella had destroyed in one of her tempers. “What about you? I heard your dad’s putting on a Christmas ball.”

“Don’t worry,” Draco did some mental calculations, “I’m not going.” The sales lady came over, Draco asking to see the necklace. “Father’s only throwing it to show people he’s still formidable. Not that a lot of people will be going to see him.” The house, he knew, was probably like some illicit museum these days. Like Godric’s Hollow. Come see the Dark Lord’s base of operations and the people who helped him nearly take over Wizarding Britain. Three years it might have been since his defeat but people were morbidly fascinated with evil things. Always had been. Whoever father invited would come to his party, and father knew that. He didn’t need them to be there for him, after all, just to be there at all so he could sink his claws into them. 

Potter’s fingers tapped on the glass, eyes a little distant. No doubt that had been what had driven him and his friends to come back that first time. To see Draco, sure, but also the house. He remembered watching them take it all in. 

“I like the gold,” Potter eventually said, fingers pointing to a bracelet a few rings away.

“Then buy it for your girlfriend. Mother likes rubies. She used to have a necklace dotted with them. A choker based on the one in some short story she’d read. It made her neck look like it was slit.” But it was gorgeous, and the effect had people looking at her. Unfortunately that, too, had suffered at the hands of Bella.

“Maybe Hermione,” Potter said after a moment.

Draco handed the necklace back, asking for a gift wrap. “Weasley doesn’t like shiny things?”

“Ginny,” Potter made sure to enunciate, “and I haven’t been seeing each other since I started Hogwarts again.”

“My condolences,” Since that was what people said, right? 

Potter rolled his eyes anyway at Draco’s attempt at kindness, moving on from the bracelet as soon as Draco’s necklace was back. 

They rounded three more shops before going home, their arms aching from heavy bags. Or, Potter’s was. Draco only had a few people to buy for and he’d never been gladder for it. Just the sheer amount of red in Potter’s cheeks as he set his bags down spoke of how many people he was expecting to see this Christmas.

It looked exhausting if Draco were honest. He remembered what it had been like surrounded by so many people. It was nice, for a while, but then more and more people wanted to talk, and going home wasn’t an option because it looked rude to be leaving before such and such a time. No Draco liked his small Christmas list. He liked the fact that it was just going to be him, Teddy and Andromeda on Christmas morning. That mother was coming over boxing day. It meant he didn’t have to do a lot. He didn’t have to dress up. Or order house elves to start some elaborate spread. The most he would have to do was maybe go for a run so he didn’t feel awful getting up December twenty seventh to start his conditioning regime all over again.

They broke up from work a few days before Christmas. Peters had outdone himself too, handing them each a special leaflet with diet ideas and exercise schedules. He was looking near manic as he told them that if they were even a second late when they showed up after their holidays, they were being cut from the team. Not benched, or put back in reserves, cut. That went for all of them too. No one was going to be showing him up at the World Cup tryouts.

“He does know they scout people, not teams right?” Potter asked.

“The more he gets on the English team the better chance he has of managing it,” Wood told them, stopping Potter before they got to the apparation point for a hug. “You two have a good Christmas.”

“Apologise to your family from me,” Draco said.

Wood rolled his eyes, clapping Draco on the shoulder. They watched him disappear. “God I hope he makes the team,” Potter said.

“Same.” If not, there were always the local games.

Draco didn’t need to set an alarm to get up. The prospect of being trapped in Grimmauld, again, had him tossing and turning all night. He was awake long before the sun rose, shoving on his thermals and jogging around the streets. The cold air burned his lungs, but after so long working outside Draco pushed through it, stretching carefully once he was back inside so he wasn’t eaten by some kind of mould monster.

He had a thought to maybe space everything out, make the doy go faster by doing so. But in the end he finished Peters regime before nine, wandering the halls once he was finished in search of something else to do. Going for another run would just look ridiculous, and since tomorrow was Christmas Eve, he had nothing to do today. Eventually he ended up in the garden, wishing, not for the first time, that he wasn’t stuck in London. It snowed at his house every year. It snowed at Hogwarts every year too. In London it was just cold. Cold and dark. 

Mother’s owl arrived at ten, along with several other owls all asking, again, if Draco was going to be at the ball tomorrow. He burned all but mother’s, sending the owls back with a few treats Potter kept on the second shelf. She was giving him his presents early. Joy. Apparently father had sprung upon her a surprise trip to- “Fucks sake. Potter!” He yelled until Potter came down, ordering him to help with the phone again as he rang Andromeda up. “Did you hear about this?” he asked, well, demanded, and knew it wasn’t her fault he was so angry but he couldn’t change his tone of voice. Not after this. “Father’s whisking her away to Yorkshire. Yorkshire! Like they’re bloody newlyweds. And mother’s actually going.”

“Draco-”

“What does he think he’s playing at? What does she? She said- you said she wasn’t going to fall for his tricks.” He wished the line wasn’t so short. He was restless again. Maybe he would chance going for another run, screw the neighbours. 

“Draco-”

“He let us be tortured in that house for two years,” he heard his voice break, but honestly didn’t care. How could she do this? “Two years! He let Wormta-” he took a shaky breath, well aware Potter hadn’t left. That he was sitting on the kitchen counter rubbing his eyes, waiting for Draco to be done so he could hang the phone up properly. Or he had been, he was as alert as Draco had ever seen him, definitely listening in now.

“Are you done?” was asked gently. “Darling I didn’t know, I promise, her letter’s just arrived.”

He could feel his hands shaking, “Do you think he made her write it?” It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“I honestly don’t know,” She sighed. “I’m going over tomorrow. I know it’s meant to be just the three of us-”

“No,” he didn’t care. “Please.” he couldn’t do it. “If you can, please.”

“Why don’t you come around? You and Harry? We can make today Christmas Eve. Put all this out of our minds for a little while?” 

It wasn’t a bad suggestion. “Potter?” he held the phone out, Potter taking it a moment later. 

They made it around before noon, Draco clutching the letter mother had written him along with an overnight bag. Teddy clung onto his leg as soon as he got in, only letting go when he spotted Harry immediately behind him.  Free, Draco handed his letter to Andromeda, the two of them looking for anything that might indicate father had made her write her supposed reconciliation attempt she was letting father have. He didn’t for one second believe this was sincere. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t possibly be this stupid. Even Andromeda promised this wasn’t right, the pair of them talking long into the evening about how she could corner mother tomorrow. 

The fact alone that Andromeda hadn’t been blacklisted showed how much father was relying on every name that counted coming to his ball. It also helped Andromeda was a supposed war hero. If she was shown to reconcile with not only her sister but her brother in law, then that would only lead to good press from others. Father would try and keep their meeting brief however, that much Draco knew. If he really was making headway with mother then he would want to keep her as isolated as possible. Mother had to know that too. Why was she letting this happen?

“Maybe I could go?” Potter suggested, blinking far too many times for Draco’s comfort. God he really was blind without his glasses wasn’t he? How the Dark Lord didn’t simply knock those things off Potter and get him while he was scrambling around was a mystery. A lot of things were a mystery when it came to Potter. 

Teddy knocked his head back, Potter’s glasses slipping off his nose and over his mouth. “You’re going to want to take them off him,” Andromeda said. “And no, definitely not. Molly would kill me if she found out you’d skipped her party to go to Lucius’s party.”

“I can help though.” He tried to make a grab for his glasses, Teddy proving quicker as he took them off his face and burrowed them in his chest. 

“You can help by keeping Molly off my back,” Andromeda agreed, the pair of them watching Teddy avoid Potter’s hands again.

“Aren’t you supposed to be some world class seeker?” Draco asked, grabbing Potter’s glasses himself. “Here,” he handed over his keys, Teddy jingling them instead. “Honestly.”

“He’s fast,” Potter huffed, his eyes finally righting themselves now they could see. “And I think Malfoy’s mother is more important than Molly’s party.”

Andromeda pulled a face, and considering Mrs Weasley had supposedly killed his aunt Bella Draco was inclined to agree that her party trumped Draco’s father’s. 

It took a lot of negotiating for Potter to relent. By that point Teddy had grown tired of no one paying attention to him and started dragging every toy he had out of his room for them all to see. Currently, he was shoving a stuffed dragon in Draco’s face, Draco letting this go on for another few pokes before chasing Teddy through the house. He was old enough now to understand simple board games, so after capturing his errant cousin, Draco carried him down for a game of snakes and ladders until bedtime.

It didn’t occur to him until the pair of them agreed to stay over that there was only one guest room. To make matters easier, before they could even begin to start on who was getting the sofa, Teddy came clomping down the stairs, a pile of blankets in his hands and told them they were all having a sleepover in the living room. That was fine with Draco. He had some of his best naps on Andromeda’s sofa, and it meant he didn’t have to feel bad about invading Andromeda’s home if he was the one to be woken up by Teddy first thing tomorrow morning.

“Don’t let him stay up too late,” Andromeda told him, kissing his head goodnight. 

“I won’t.” 

He did. Draco blamed Potter for all of it, since Teddy definitely didn’t get to bed when he was supposed to. Instead Potter decided to depress both Draco and Teddy that evening by dragging a photo album out and telling them tales of Professor Lupin and a man Draco could have done without hearing about the rest of his life. He had to excuse himself halfway through, hiding in the toilet until he could be sure the stories had moved onto Potter’s heroic tales in Hogwarts.

Despite getting to bed late, Teddy was first up, jumping on Potter until Draco heard a sharp, “Ooof!” which woke him up. 

“Breakfast,” Teddy demanded.

Draco shut his eye, staying as still as he could, sensing Potter’s eyes on him. “Fine,” Potter agreed. “Breakfast it is.” He felt, more than heard, Potter lean in close to him. “Lazy git.”

“He woke you up, not me,” Draco mumbled back, turning over in his blanket to go back to sleep.

He got up anyway when the smell of bacon drifted through the house. Andromeda wasn’t long behind him, the three of them slowly waking themselves up as Teddy chatted about the fun day they were going to have together. 

Potter didn’t stay too long. Just past lunch really, cleaning himself up near one until he was presentable enough to go to a Weasley family get together. Teddy wasn’t too happy with that, clinging to Potter’s freshly pressed clothes until they were rumpled and Potter knew just how displeased Teddy was. How he escaped was a mystery. Draco suspected dark magic, but didn’t have any proof. Besides, he had something more important to focus on. That being helping Andromeda navigate herself around a Malfoy party. It turned out being exiled from the Black family had left her out of practice on such things.

She picked it up fairly quickly however, and before night fell, so, four, she was telling the pair of them to behave and not answer the door to anybody. “I’ll be back before midnight,” she promised, and Draco hoped with his mother in tow.

It being Christmas Eve and all, Teddy was content to watch television. There were back to back movies on about monsters multiplying and causing havoc, a reindeer with a glowing red nose and an elf who wanted to be a dentist. Fascinating things considering they were muggle made. Teddy thought so too, curled in the small nook Draco left him on the sofa. 

The door opened around nine, Draco carefully extracting himself up, before almost flattening Teddy to the sofa as the door slammed shut, a rough huff following. His heart slowed as Potter rounded the corner, his pressed shirt now covered in some kind of liquid. Potter didn’t look happy, and it was sort of weird Draco not being the cause of it. Even weirder to be around it this long as Potter stripped himself of his dirty clothes for the ones he’d abandoned earlier. Usually they were either separated, or Potter had stormed off after a few minutes, maybe even seconds, of them both being angry with each other. Not this time, Potter flopping onto the empty chair, rubbing his eyes as Draco settled back behind Teddy once more.

“Bad party?” Draco guessed.

Potter hummed, leaving it at that.

It took a while for them both to relax. Long enough for Draco to carry a floppy Teddy up to his room and be back down before the next movie started. Potter had taken his seat when he got back down, Draco knocking his glasses off as he hopped onto the armchair. 

Midnight was slow in approaching. Draco’s eyes had long started to droop as eleven dawned. Really he was practically asleep the next time the door opened, Andromeda’s cold hand on his arm the only thing waking him up. She was alone, he noticed, his stomach dropping when she told him there were too many people either talking to her, or surrounding Draco’s parents for her to get a word in. “I’m so sorry. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“No.” It was Christmas. This wasn’t her mess either. “No just stay. It was stupid of me to think she would come with you.” Of course she wouldn’t. Father was still practically helpless. “I’ll go myself when they come back.” Let mother get accustomed to the man she married again. Let her see what an absolute monster he was. It was harsh, but sometimes the only thing to do was let things play out. If mother was so brainwashed she wanted to stay with him after this so called holiday, then Draco would talk to Andromeda again about her helping him. For now, “When do we put the presents under the tree?”

Now was actually a good time, Andromeda waking Potter long enough to get a pillow under his head before helping Draco stuff the tree full of goodies.

Christmas day was odd. It snowed for a while, Draco joining the others in the garden as they tried to catch snowflakes in their mouths. Breakfast wasn’t anything special, and there was something bittersweet about being home for Christmas and not seeing his mother. Even more so when an owl came with his presents, Draco finding his own, the necklace he’d gotten for his mother, amongst them with a note from his father telling him he’d already replaced his mother’s jewelry.

The letters came afterwards. Some for Draco from Wood and old acquaintances who were still trying to gain his favour. Most of them for Potter, his face growing redder the more he read. Andromeda noticed too, finally asking, after they’d stuffed their faces at lunch, “Weren’t you supposed to be around the Burrow today?”

“Had a fight with Molly,” Potter bit out, tearing up one of his letters. He rubbed his face, “I don’t think a lot of people are talking to me today.”

“It can’t have been that bad,” Andromeda consoled, grabbing Teddy before he slapped another of his Christmas presents onto Potter’s knee. 

Scooby Doo ‘rooby doo-ing’ filled the silence as Potter rubbed his face again. “She keeps trying to set me up with Ginny. It’s like she doesn’t understand that we don’t want to be together, and when I try and tell her that, or any of them, they keep making excuses for me, or just, treating me like the enemy. I mean, it was mutual. I don’t understand what’s so hard about that.”

“She’s a pureblood,” Draco supplied.

Potter shook his head, “And?”

“And?” he turned in his chair, “unless you keep things quiet, your girlfriend is basically your wife. You don’t make things public, unless you’re willing to commit. It’s just how purebloods work.”

“Well I’m not a pureblood,” Harry said.

“No, but she is. And so’s Ginny. Granted, a rather liberal one, but still, a pureblood. And you’re lucky you broke up in school. If you’d waited until afterwards the fallout definitely would have been worse.” Why else did some people even get married? 

Potter tried looking to Andromeda for support but even she was brought up like Draco. Potter was just going to have to accept that he was going to be forced onto his Weasley girl until he either married, or she did. He didn’t look too happy with that prospect when it was explained, again, to him by Andromeda. Even if he tried to argue it by telling tales about some Bill character who, in Draco’s opinion, probably kept his own string of romances a secret until announcing his future wife to his family. 

“But you went out with Pansy and you’re not married to her now. And your mother isn’t forcing the two of you together,” Potter said.

“No but father is.” He never should have asked Pansy to the ball. “And we didn’t go out. We went to one party, and we went as friends.”

“She kissed you.”

“She kissed everyone.” And if she was trying to gauge just how pretty she was with how many people she could get to kiss her then that was her business. 

Potter’s head hit the back of the sofa, “This is ridiculous.” and, as if to add fuel onto the fire, a howler graced itself into the house. 

Andromeda had to cover poor Teddy’s ears against the shrill notes Mrs Weasley graced them with. Draco rather wished he could be under there too. Mainly because he was used to people using guilt as a weapon, and he wasn’t overly fond of hearing it on his, supposed to be relaxing, Christmas. Mrs Weasley pulled out all the stops trying to get Potter to return to the Burrow. Everything from Granger and Weasley ‘crying themselves to sleep’. The presents Potter had left behind. The fact that his friends had travelled all this way to come and see him and he wasn’t even here. Longbottom was there. Finnigan, Thomas, it was almost like a class reunion. Lovegood was there too, Draco’s heart stopping cold when he heard her name mentioned.

He hadn’t thought about her in a while. Hadn’t wanted to really. It came back to him now however. Of sneaking down to the dungeons to slip her something to eat. Promising her that someone would come. Someone had to come for her. Telling her he was sorry because they both knew he was lying. That the pair of them were probably going to die in that house. She’d been sweet to him. Even when she knew he was lying she didn’t tell him so, just nodded and wandered off with words of well wishes to Draco’s parents. 

She must be alright if she was at the Burrow. Draco hadn’t even known if she’d survived, and how stupid was that thought. He should have checked. He should have checked a lot of names instead of hiding himself away in his house. 

The howler went up in smoke, Potter putting his wand away, his face redder than Draco had ever seen it as he went to get some air. 

One of Teddy’s hands went out to where the letter was still crumbling to ash. “It went boom,” he told them.

“Sure did,” Draco agreed, slipping to the floor to catch the ash.  He dumped it in the bin, dragging out the tea party set he’d bought, “Why don’t you and me go over which fork we need to use in a fancy dinner party while your grandma has a lie down?” and hopefully salvage whatever glimmer of good will was left of this Christmas.

Teddy, oblivious to the drama, happily overturned as many cups as he could get his hands on, their tea party turning into who could make the most disgusting drink as Andromeda, instead of lying down, went to console Potter. Nevermind that he was an adult, and had probably received worse howlers than that in his life. Draco certainly had. But good people, he supposed, did good things, and a good thing in this instance would be to check up on the boy who’d just been yelled at for not attending someone’s Christmas spread.

“You’re lucky,” Draco told Teddy, grabbing the kid before he overturned water onto one of the TV wires. “You won’t be getting in this sort of trouble for a good few years yet.” Not that he wasn’t getting into trouble now. In fact, Draco ended up sending Teddy to the corner when he tried, again, to douse the electrical wires, which the baby proofing book had said were dangerous when connected with water. But this sort of trouble was something any kid got into. Not weird family functions with people he wasn’t even related to.

Potter came in before dark, the four of them setting up one of Teddy’s board games, Draco wondering as he moved his first piece if his mother was already on her way to this secret vacation. He hoped to God she came back from it. Not that she wouldn’t. But there was always some possibility that father had actually lost it in prison. 


	11. Chapter 11

They left after lunch on boxing day, Draco stuffing himself into his running gear as soon as they got back and forcing himself to do, at least some, of Peters’ regime. His stomach wasn’t happy with him when he got back, cramping up as soon as he got through the door. He ended up wallowing in the front hallway until it passed, Kreacher asking four times if he wanted a special potion for which Draco gladly shooed him away for.

No more howlers came that week. A few letters did. Some for Draco, again from Pansy and a lot from Astoria for some reason. Mostly they were for Potter. No doubt, while they weren’t howlers, they were still scathing. Just the forlorn look on Potter’s face once he’d finished reading them, and he always finished reading them, told Draco someone had managed to get to him. Which had always been Potter’s problem. “You’re too soft.”

Already the hackles raised, Potter barking back, “Soft?” like the concept had never even crossed his mind.

“So what if they’re angry. If they’re really your friends, they’ll forgive you when you’re ready to ask for it.” 

Potter’s face twisted, the letter in his hand scrunching up until it joined the others on the side table. “I don’t need their forgiveness,” he huffed, “If anything, I should be the one forgiving them.”

“Then don’t,” he said, pretty sure the idea was actually revolutionary to Potter. “Or do. Or just do something other than mope about. I know we don’t see each other that much, but unless I’m the one tormenting you it’s actually rather annoying to see you pouting.” Not to mention when Potter was in a mood he didn’t make food. Draco was still limited to whatever looked easiest in the cook book, and even then they didn’t come out so great. He needed at least one decent meal a day to keep him going, and that meal was definitely not going to be made by his own hands. 

“I don’t pout,” Potter muttered, like he wasn’t sinking further into his seat.

Draco left him to it, only coming down later when he smelled chicken cooking.

About four days before they were due back at work, over lunch too, which Potter had suspiciously called him down for instead of Draco merely hanging around when he smelled something cooking until Potter made enough for two, he was told they were to have a guest over. It couldn’t have been mother, since she would have told Draco rather than Potter. Andromeda, too, would have informed him if she was popping around, and since he was blacklisting father’s letters, Potter hated him and Teddy couldn’t write, it had to be one of Potter’s friends. Which remained the question, and Draco was praying it wasn’t Weasley.

“So stay out of the way until they leave?” Draco gathered when Potter finished, “Understood. I may even go flying.”

Potter clicked his tongue, shuffling a little about in his seat as he nodded. “Great. Not that I want you gone or anything,” he promised. “It’s just. It’s my cousin. The muggle.”

“Oh.” Right. Potter didn’t want him around because he thought Draco might do something to his cousin. A rather correct assumption considering their history together, even if it still hurt. Draco was a changed man. He interacted with muggles more than wizards these days. But, he supposed, this was Potter’s cousin, so maybe he was just taking as many precautions as he could. Maybe it had nothing to do with Draco at all, or that this cousin was a muggle and Potter just wanted to make sure they were on the same page about who was coming to their house. Regardless, the hurt was still there, if, perhaps, misplaced. “What time?”

Potter said ten, so Draco left the house twenty to. He ended up hovering over one of those muggle football pitches, tossing a quaffle around to himself until he inevitably dropped it. Laps were easier on an actual field to train, and so long as Draco hid whenever he saw the groundskeeper approaching, he actually made good use of his time there.

Unfortunately, something neither he or Potter really discussed, was just how long Potter expected his cousin to stay. From Potter’s tone, he expected it to be a short visit. Yet when Draco got back after two hours there were still someone else’s boots at their door. 

He debated going back out, but his hands were freezing, and quite frankly if he didn’t eat something he was sure he was going to pass out. So, as quietly as he could, he toed his own boots off, resting his broom in the hall. He heard voices from the mouldy living room, so easily avoided that room altogether and went rooting through the fridge for anything Potter might have made.

Something, his thoughts went to Kreacher, must have given his presence away. That, or him being there coincided with whatever path their conversation was heading down since no sooner had Draco stuffed his face with a half made sandwich than he heard yelling. It started with one voice, a deep booming sort of tone. Then Potter’s joined in. Draco caught only brief things like, “-I knew you were always wrong,” “-can’t speak to me like that anymore,” “disgraceful is what you are.” Things he honestly thought he’d hear from his own father than Potter’s cousin.

He quickly ran up the stairs just as the voices grew louder, some large lump of a man, older than what Draco thought Potter’s cousin would look like, striding to the door. “Out. We’re out of here! See if we have anything to do with you again. Petunia!” A thin rake of a woman followed, not even looking back as she was ushered out the door. “Dudders!” was the last to come, and this looked more like Draco’s expectations. If a little different too. When he thought of Potter’s family he thought of an army of messy haired individuals with saviour complexes. Not these people. They were sort of anticlimactic if he were being honest with himself.

Dudders, a ridiculous name in Draco’s opinion, lingered by the door, his the boots Draco had spied. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled down the hall, Potter appearing a moment later, his face red, hands clenched by his sides. “I honestly didn’t think they’d want to come.”

“Just get out,” Potter said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

Dudders hung in the doorway, despite the fact his father was yelling at him again to come away from that freakshow of a house. “I can still write can’t I?”

There was a moment of nothing. Then Potter slowly nodded, herding Dudders himself out the door. Draco quickly fled up to his room before Potter finished turning the lock.

He ordered in. Call it guilt for potentially starting an argument with Potter’s relatives or just that he was back before they were gone Draco ordered something in, knocking on Potter’s door just before they would usually go down to scrounge the kitchen for food. 

It took a minute for the door to open. Potter was as he expected too. Miserable that was. Who wouldn’t be with family yelling at them. “Sorry for coming home early.” He held the pizza out, figuring that was safer than ordering a bunch of random dishes from a different takeaway. 

“It’s fine. It wasn’t even you. They’re always like that,” Potter brushed off.

He didn’t really know what to say to that. Or any of this really. In the end, more so because he was grasping at straws and didn’t want to look completely insensitive to someone who sometimes made him dinner, he ended up with, “At least you got the looks in the family?” Which, urgh, didn’t sound right. At all. Potter probably thought he was coming onto him or something. “I mean, the bar is pretty low so… wouldn’t be a stretch.” 

That was quite possibly worse.

“Thanks,” Potter said anyway, a hint of a smile on his face. “I’d say the same, but Sirius was definitely better looking than you.”

He felt bile rise in his throat, forcing a shaky smile onto his face anyway. Potter didn’t know, after all. However, the usual scathing comments he had planned to annoy Potter into a better mood didn’t come out, instead he heard himself almost begging, “Never say that to me again.”

Potter’s eyes flickered up to his, “You that sensitive about your looks?”

“Just-” no. He turned, locking himself in his room. For the better too. If he’d stayed who knew what might have happened. Draco had been having a good day, he wasn’t going to ruin it now. So he forced that conversation from his head and focused on making sure he washed his Quidditch robes tomorrow.

Potter was giving him odd looks. Draco didn’t really notice it at first, too busy, firstly, avoiding Potter, and secondly looking for food when he did see Potter. But there was definitely something up. It felt a lot like being back at school, the two of them locking eyes, Potter looking for something, Draco for something else. In school, it had been sizing each other up to see if they could make fun of the other for something specific that day, and Potter definitely had given as good as he got, so Draco definitely disputed this idea that it was all him doing the bullying. These days however, it felt a little different. Not so aggressive. 

Or maybe Draco was just feeling on edge after hiding away in his room like a coward for hours on end.

Regardless, he didn’t have much time to dwell on these looks as, come the second week in January, they were back at work. What’s more, mother was back from her romantic holiday, which meant Draco had other things to focus on than Potter. Work he just got on with. There wasn’t much he could really do. Either he would be chosen for the English team, or he’d play local the rest of the year, no big deal either way. His mother, on the other hand, he sent several owls to and had them all returned, the letters unopened. 

It wasn’t boding well.

Father was still writing even if he wasn’t letting mother write too. It felt rather like receiving the end of term report about his behaviour, only this time it was about mother. Father was saying she was well, that she didn’t want to be bothered. That Draco, if he was honestly worried about her, and why would that be because they were family and some other crap, should come over. A hostage situation if Draco had to put a name to it. 

“The scouts will be coming next week to see you play,” Peters said, dragging Draco out of his next elaborate plan to scale the walls of Malfoy manor and get his mother back. “After that, if they like the look of you, you’ll be going to one of their knockout games.” and after that knockouts, they’d end up with three teams to take their pick of. They’d probably outsource and grab some from the other teams too, but everyone knew the more people from one team who already knew how to work together, the easier it was to start training. “The point is, don’t fuck this up.”

Wood actually saluted. 

Even with all the training over Christmas, Draco went home feeling sore that evening, and the evening after that. Potter had all but slept in the bathtub, Draco knocking at one point to make sure he was still alive. More than one person brought a hot towel to practice with them, Draco preferring to nap his aches away in the sun on his lunch break. 

“Do you think Ron would kill me if I skipped out on tux fittings?” Potter wondered one fine Tuesday.

“Don’t know, or care.” At least that was one thing Draco didn’t have to worry about. Sure, he had mother. But compared to planning, or helping to plan, an actual wedding, mother was easy. The amount of owls that had started coming in after Potter wandered off to Granger and Weasley’s one evening was ridiculous. Tux fittings, cake testing, flower arranging. Although the cake one was rather okay, Potter brought him home a few bits. The point was, “He should be able to make a few decisions on his own without you. You keep saying he’s not as stupid as I think he is, so why not let him prove it?”

Potter made an actual considering face. He really was tired.

Their weekend these days were spent in a daze of stretching out aches and wandering muggle shops for something to do with themselves. It wasn’t like they tried to find other things to do, Andromeda had her hands full trying to do what Draco wanted and break into Malfoy manor, which should have meant more babysitting. But, for some reason, Draco was betting Potter’s involvement, the Weasley matriarch had started taking Teddy for weekends out. It was almost like she was trying to lure Potter to the Burrow. Or someone had told her Draco was spending more time with Teddy than she thought. He knew people were downplaying how much time he actually spent around Potter and Andromeda. Hell, he knew mostly everyone thought he was still living with his father, so someone letting slip that Draco had been having unsupervised babysitting weekends with his cousin would force her to intervene.

“You’re being dramatic,” Potter told him.

“I’m not. This is the third weekend she’s taken him. Someone’s let it slip I’m living here. Was it Granger?” he wouldn’t put it past Granger. She was always weak in the face of authority. So was he, but, he wasn’t who was in question here.

“No,” Potter sighed, “And…” his face twisted before he admitted, “She doesn’t really know you’re living here either so.”

Oh. Huh. “Well that explains why they haven’t given me my housewarming gift.” Namely threatening to kill him in his sleep. 

Potter stretched, slumping further in his seat, “If it makes you feel any better they didn’t give me one either. They think I’m insane for moving in here.” The fire crackled, the heat warming their poor sore muscles.

“I mean, they’re not wrong. Even if you didn’t have a Death Eater in your home, this place is,” he lowered his voice, “disgusting.” Kreacher was around here somewhere. He didn’t take too kindly to Draco bad mouthing his cleaning skills. 

“We’re fixing it up.”

“When?” They certainly didn’t have the time to do it now.

“Well,” Potter seemed to realise this too, “Well, either we go to qualifiers and put the house on hold until after the cup, or we don’t and we have all this free time before the local games start up.”

A gamble, but it wasn’t like Draco was completely unhappy with his current situation. His room was alright after all. “I say we get some of those friends of yours to at least fix up the bathroom. Some of them have to be looking for work.” and it would save Draco doing it. 

“My friends aren’t plumbers, and the bathroom’s fine.”

“It has mould on the ceiling. The bath leaks-”

“You never have a bath so I don’t know how you even know that-”

“The lock doesn’t work properly. I had to keep it shut with my foot when Teddy was around. And the tiles are coming up. I cut my toe on them the other day. If I don’t get tetanus it’ll be a miracle.” He could go on. That bathroom was actually atrocious. But he was pretty sure his point had been made.

Potter was basically lying down with how low he was, and still looked uncomfortable as he rolled his eyes, listing off, “Ron and Hermione are getting married. And even if they weren’t, Ron’s got Auror training and Hermione’s still trying to get a leg up in the Ministry. Neville’s trying to get some teaching credentials. Dean’s working in Diagon. Seamus, I wouldn’t even trust Seamus with it. And none of the Weasley’s are going to step foot in here, which just leaves Luna and I’m pretty sure she’s helping her dad with the Quibbler.”

“The fuck is the Quibbler?” It sounded familiar.

“This paper her dad publishes. It’s… it’s good,” Potter forced out. “Sometimes.”

Oh, “Is that the one you get delivered?” It was certainly nicer to look at than the Prophet. There was always some sort of beast on the front. He’d even stolen it a time or two to see if there really were some sort of nefari hanging around their curtains. 

“Yeah. So there. No one’s free.”

“It’s like you want to do manual labour,” Draco sighed, head falling back. 

They couldn’t really talk about it again. Not with the Scouts here. They’d arrived before Wood, who was probably one of the first people at the pitch on a morning. Already they were talking to people, seeing who they could consider for the team even if Puddlemere didn’t go to the knockouts. Draco noted they avoided him like he was the Black Death itself. Which meant he, at least, would have time to fix the bathroom up while Potter went off to the World Cup. 

He didn’t mind. Not really. Maybe a little. But there would always be the next World Cup, and hopefully Draco’s name would be dredged a little more out of the mud by then. He, hopefully, would still be playing Quidditch by then too.

Eight games they played that day. Draco was tossed around between beater, chaser, even seeker at one point. Potter was still the shiny star of the day however. All that training had certainly changed him from a lucky kid with good instincts to a player who certainly knew what he was doing on the pitch. Draco didn’t have any problem losing to Potter that day. Not now he’d actually trained for his victory.

“Did you hear Peters?” Potter asked later, the two of them sat around their kitchen table. “He kept mentioning you. Wood too. I think he’s trying to get you on reserves if not first line. Kept mentioning how versatile you were.”

“Well I did train to be that way.” Long hours at home with his mother somewhere inside hoping he’d choose something else to waste his time on. He tried to keep it up too, even if he spent most of his time with a quaffle in his hands these days. “I think the Scouts were impressed anyway. I’d be disappointed if we weren’t asked to at least one knockout.”

Which they were. 

Peters came running in with the time and date, letter held high in his hand. Eight teams, overall, were selected for the knockouts, and, like they were called, as soon as they lost, they were knocked out, which meant they couldn’t lose. They also had to look good for the scouts even if they did lose, which meant a lot more specialised training. Draco was surprised when Peters told him he was going to train with the beaters but play as a chaser. 

It was Wood, eventually, who told him that the scouts sometimes sat in on practices leading up to the games. The more Draco could show off, the more likely he was to catch their eye. Everything had to be planned out now. No showing up to work with their hair uncombed or stubble. Either they grew a beard, or they shaved it, and only those who already had one started could progress to the beard stage. Their shoes needed to be polished, no unwashed robes. If they wanted to get on the English team they had to look the part in everything that mattered, including how they were presented to the public.

No interviews with magazines or newspapers either. Not even Potter could let loose to Luna that he might have a shot at the World Cup. They had to look humble, they had to watch what they said, and, most importantly, “If that Skeeter woman comes sniffing around you keep your head down and you come find me.” 

Potter looked incredibly troubled at that.

For good reason, it turned out. Their practices were moved to the London stadium. A good thing for Draco and Potter, since it meant they could actually catch the bus to work instead of apparating. It also gave them the chance to see their competition. They all had rotating training schedules now, which meant at least one day in, one day out, and even then when they were in they might not be the ones flying. Physicals were mentioned. Other things too like wand testing and pre approved robes so no one could think of sneaking something in to cheat. 

The physicals were what were bothering Draco. His nails had bitten so far into his neck he knew without looking it was bleeding. Mainly because Potter disappeared and came back with a piece of toilet roll to put to it. When his name was called, he didn’t deny them anything they wanted from him. Couldn’t. If they found even one thing wrong they could send him home and one of the reserves would take his spot on the team. So he peed in a cup, and prayed they wouldn’t actually tamper with it. He let them knock a little too hard against his limbs to make sure they were still working, and he showed them his mark when they asked.

There was a morbid fascination about it. Draco knew. He’d often, as a child, poke at his father’s when he’d been permitted to sit on his lap. Having his own wasn’t nearly as glamorous as his father had made it out to be. In fact, it made him sick just to look at it. Often at home he had it wrapped up. Potter never asked to see it. He didn’t even try to look. It was actually sort of nice to have someone whose eyes didn’t immediately go to this arm when they met. 

“What are these from then?” The healer asked, wand sparking a bit where it landed on Draco’s bare chest.

He glanced down, pin pointing which scars they were referring to. “Potter. We had a bit of a fight in school.”

There was something almost akin to glee on the healers face hearing that. No doubt they thought Potter had won. Which, he sort of had. But only because he’d played dirty. If Potter hadn’t known that damn spell there was no way he would have come out of there better than Draco. The amount of curses Draco had learned from fifth to sixth year was disconcerting even now. “They ache?” The healer asked, at least trying to keep it professional.

“No.”

He nodded, flicking through the rest of the form Draco had been forced to fill out. “Says you’ve been under the cruciatus curse. Any lingering side effects?”

“No.” thankfully. Just nightmares really. Nothing like the twitches he’d had those first few weeks. Sometimes his knee jerked in bed and Draco feared, but most of the time it was just an involuntary reaction. Something muggles even got. 

“Anything you want to declare before we move things along?”

He shook his head, the healer letting him put his shirt back on and send Potter in. 

“They ask you about the cruciatus?” Potter asked later, the two of them waiting on the benches for the rest of their team to be done. 

Draco nodded. “Mainly about my scars though. The mark too,” he admitted quietly.

Potter hummed, “They asked about mine as well. Someone let it slip it used to hurt when Vol-  _ he, _ ” Potter corrected, Draco not even noticing his face scrunching up, “Was near. Or trying to send me messages or whatever.”

“Messages?” Draco hadn’t known that. 

Potter shrugged, “Just words sometimes. Feelings. Sometimes it was like I was seeing what he was seeing.”

That was terrifying. “I can’t even imagine how awful that must have been. He rarely went for evening strolls.” So it was unlikely Potter would have drifted in while Voldemort was petting a rabbit or whatever.

Potter sniggered as if he’d just had the same thought. “I think that would have been worse. Seeing him do nice things might have- I don’t know, humanised him? I mean he was, once, but,” Potter shook his head.

Draco sighed, dragging his knee up to his chest. “We should order something in tonight. Merlin knows what they’re going to slip into my pee, may as well enjoy pretending I might play in the knockouts while I can.”

“I’m choosing,” Potter bargained.

“Fine by me. Just make sure you get a lot of it.” It turned out having two Quidditch players under one roof meant they ate a lot. 

Which they did, Potter ordering in Thai that had Draco writing down the menu number for when he next needed something tasty to eat. A civil evening that was ruined two days later by them walking into work to find everyone giving them the side eye. Draco he could understand. Only recently had some of his teammates even bothered to say good morning to him. But Potter? 

Draco found Wood, pitching his voice low to ask, “What’s going on?”

Wood told him, and it wasn’t good. Somehow, and Draco didn’t know how, Skeeter had been lurking around the healers office. Despite it being male only, the women going to the other side of the pitch, she’d gotten in, and overheard him and Potter talking about getting something to eat later.

There was a copy of the article lying around somewhere, Potter finding it to show the pair of them on the front page. Their team photo had been used, cropped so it was Potter and Draco’s faces side by side, the headline some load of rubbish, but the message was loud and clear. Skeeter was insinuating some sort of relationship between the two. She was careful about it, the article not like her other, straight to her opinion pieces about people, but there was enough leading of the reader that she suggested something intimate. Something that might be the reason for Weasley to dump her supposed future husband for the first few months at Hogwarts. 

Panic warred with anger at first in Draco’s mind. Before logic smoothed it out. This… might not be the worst thing to happen to him. For Potter, perhaps it was. But for Draco maybe not. He handed the paper back, going to fetch his broom and start his warm up. Nobody, after all, had told him he’d failed his physical yet. They probably wouldn’t after this either. Not if he had Potter’s name protecting him. A vile idea, but one Draco was willing to suffer through if it gave him a chance to play in the Cup. Since he knew he had just as much a right as anyone else there to try out for it, and that was all he needed.

Potter was fuming. His face was red all morning. But that also could have been from the early February air. He wasn’t chatty at all at lunch. Which was just as well since they weren’t in their usual stadium, which meant Draco had to hunt for a whole new napping spot. Although why Potter still insisted on sitting with him after this recent article was beyond his comprehension. Surely, if he didn’t want to add fuel to the fires, he should have went off with Wood and the others for lunch. 

At home, as soon as the door closed, Potter was kicking his shoes off, swearing when he got into the kitchen, Draco following to see a whole heap of letters on their table. Some of them had already exploded, Draco picking them out since, well, they were meant for him. The other, more normal letters, were for Potter, but from the looks of things they were no less scathing in their assessment of Skeeter’s article. 

“You’re not angry?” Potter demanded later, having only knocked once more asserting himself in Draco’s doorway.

“I’ve been trying to find a way to tell my father I prefer the company of boys since I was fourteen. As much as I dislike it being you, I have to admit it’s nice not having to have this conversation with him.” Not having to stand there and say the words out loud. It wasn’t that he disliked girls, he would have probably married one had he still been under his father’s thumb and be alright with it. But boys had always caught his eye more. Maybe it was the fact the women in his family were all insane and the idea of spreading those genes around further made his blood curl. Maybe it was something else. The point still stood that Skeeter had done him a favour by being the one to spread this news around. However untrue it was. “I also have to admit this was probably the easiest way to ease the wizarding world into the idea that we’re living together. No doubt they’re so repulsed by the idea that as soon as you come out and say it’s merely a roommate situation they’ll throw me a parade in the streets in relief.”

Potter was blinking a bit more rapidly than he usually did, his brain slowly, but surely, catching up. “Didn’t think of it that way.”

“Nor would you. We’re not the best of pals you and I.” Friends was even still a stretch at this stage. “Still, what I still don’t understand is how Skeeter got such accurate quotes. Do you think someone was spying for her?” Maybe one of the reserves in the hopes that Peters would fire Draco for workplace misconduct and take his place for the knockouts.

Potter cleared his throat, “She has her ways.” he wouldn’t look at Draco. The sure signs of a liar. 

“What do your friends think then?” He asked, tossing the boot he’d been polishing down for his other one. “Are they coming around to assassinate me as we speak?” they were probably already here knowing them. Waiting outside his window for Potter to leave before they struck.

“They er,” Potter huffed, slumping that little more in Draco’s doorway. “They don’t believe Skeeter. She’s always publishing crap so…” Right. Well that made things alright then. “I mean, Molly’s thinking of coming around. She er, she still reads…” Still believes Potter meant. Which meant Draco had to reevaluate what he’d just said and find a good hiding place.

“When?” Maybe he had time to flee the country.

Potter scratched the back of his head just as the door knocked downstairs.

“Don’t you dare,” Draco put his boot down.

“W- come on. She’s not going to do anything.”

“She killed my aunt!” Adding another of his bloodline to her list would probably make her happier than ever. Especially if it was Draco. The amount of things Potter and Weasley had probably said about him over the years. The amount of things father had probably said to her that she held aggression towards Draco for because Draco knew for a fact she thought he was no better than his father. 

“Your aunt was insane,” another knock came, the trilling tones of Mrs Weasley following as she asked where Harry was. “She just wants to talk.”

“To you! She probably wants to murder me.” he searched for his wand. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

Mrs Weasley was starting to get impatient, threatening to open the door herself if Harry didn’t come down. Which led to both of them parting ways, Potter promising to keep Mrs Weasley downstairs and unaware of the fact Draco was living here while Draco looked for his wand and prayed to anyone who was listening that he made it out of this night alive. 

There wasn’t just one Weasley. With Draco’s door open he could hear the thump of shoes as, one by one, Weasley’s and Granger alike, said hello to Potter. They went to the living room, the door closing and muffling whatever conversation followed. Draco chanced getting up as soon as it did. He did his best to avoid the creaking floorboards and slowly edge his own door closed while every cackle and pleased shout alike threatened to send his heart palpitating. 

With the amount of stress he kept being put under Draco was honestly surprised he was still alive. 

As it was, lying on his bed, he couldn’t get the tendrils of fear from clamping down on his lungs. Stress, sleep deprivation, just the pure insanity of the day, something was messing with his head. Something was making it harder to be there, listening to voices he knew were friendly but kept echoing around his head in different tones, different words. Conspiring. Laughing. Laughing at him, at the peacocks, at anything that wasn’t each other because they needed each other. Their numbers were few and far between. Steadily growing they might be but it would take a while yet, which meant they needed to keep each other alive.

He sat up, tip toeing to his window before realising he’d gummed it shut. 

“ _ Fuck. _ ”

Maybe another room. But another room would mean getting out of his. He leaned his palms against the sil, trying to grab any semblance of cool air he could. He was fine. He was alive. He was fine. He sunk down to the floor, resting his head against the cool wood. He was fine. The Weasleys were too noble to hurt him. Potter was setting them straight downstairs anyway. They wouldn’t hurt him over something he hadn’t done. 

It seemed to last an age before he heard the living room door open. He rolled around onto his back, listening to the faint murmurs of voices drifting towards the door. Then one taking a turn towards the stairs. 

“There’s nothing. Really,” Potter’s voice came, clearer than the others, trying to head Mrs Weasley off. “Most of the doors are locked too. I had Teddy around before Christmas. I was mainly thinking about starting once the season dies down.”

“Well,” she was on the landing. She was actually steps away from his room, “there’s no harm in seeing what you’ve already done now is there Harry dear?”

“Well- I mean- like I said, most of the doors are locked.”

Locked. Damn. He hadn’t locked his door. Shuffling onto his front, Draco crawled his way to his door, pushing his lock across just as the door was tried, the wood caving in slightly. “Odd,” Mrs Weasley said. “Are you sure you put the lock on the right side Harry? I can’t seem to find it.”

“Yeah. But, there’s nothing really in that one. I’ve just done mine and Teddy’s room. Mainly my room. It’s er, this one,” Potter’s voice moved off, the door caving in once more before Mrs Weasley tutted her way across to Potter’s room.

His head rested gently on the floor again, Draco grabbing the back of his neck as he listened to Mrs Weasley inspect the rest of the rooms. She didn’t like what she found, apparent in her attempt to get Potter to move in with her and her daughter. “We have more space these days, what with Ronnie moving out soon. It’ll certainly be better than staying here alone Harry. Not when you don’t have to.”

“I like it here,” Potter’s voice crossed across his door again, stopping, barring it from entry. “And Sirius left it to me for some reason. I think I can make a real home out of it.”

“I’m not saying you can’t. I’m just suggesting moving somewhere a little more… stable until you get this one fixed up. It’s practically freezing. I forgot how bad the heating worked in this place.”

“Will you leave off it mum,” came ‘Ronnie’s voice, Draco actually cracking a smile at that. “If Harry gets desperate enough he’ll come stay with us, we’ve already told him.”

“Thanks Ron.” Potter didn’t sound very thankful. “Now are you lot staying ‘cause I don’t have anything in.”

Mrs Weasley tutted again, starting on about Potter’s eating habits and why he definitely needed someone to look after him if he wasn’t able to even stock his own home. Which led to Potter explaining he did have enough food for himself, just not enough to feed himself the rest of the week and however many guests were still downstairs. 

It was another half hour before the front door finally closed, Draco unlocking his door. He just made it to the landing, about to ask Potter to make him something nice to eat after putting him through that debacle when he heard, “Are you honestly alright Harry?” 

Granger was still here, and if Granger was still here then Ronnie was too. 

He didn’t go back to his room. Didn’t think he could stand it right now. So instead he went to Teddy’s. The window opened in Teddy’s, and the fresh winter air actually did help unclench his aching lungs. 

Hours later he heard someone come upstairs. His door was opened, then Teddy’s, Potter poking his head through to tell him, “I er, told Hermione and Ron you’re here.”

Wonderful. “Suppose it had to come out sooner or later.” 

Potter’s face pinched a little. “They’re staying tonight, if that’s alright.” and probably would be a lot more now as well. 

“Fine. Don’t expect me to socialise with them though.” At this point he just wanted to fetch some supper and go to bed. They had a day off tomorrow, thankfully, and their first game was on Saturday. He wondered how many of those three nights between then and now Potter’s friends would be over. Probably all of them. If they weren’t making plans to move in right now he would be surprised.

“That’s fair,” Potter nodded. “There’s some sandwiches downstairs if you want one.”

He did, but fear of socialising kept him upstairs. 


	12. Chapter 12

It was hunger, more than anything else, that kept him awake that night. By the time he did drop off to sleep, it was brief and restless, Draco waking with an ache in his stomach that sent him downstairs as soon as seven chimed. Just in time for another howler to fly through the window, Draco blinking blearily around some sugary cereal as his father’s voice finally filled the air.

It was different to how he remembered it. More hoarse. That could be from the screaming. He sounded older anyway, less like himself. It was a little disconcerting. Azkaban had broke him. For two years he’d been by the Dark Lord’s side and his voice had never wavered, but Azkaban did. It looked like even without the Dementors Azkaban wasn’t somewhere Draco wanted to end up. He wasn’t as strong willed as his father, as had been proven.

He eventually set it on fire when father started on mother’s disappointment in him. The liar. Mother didn’t care. She’d known ever since Draco had written her in fourth year that Pansy was an awful kisser that he wasn’t completely set on girls. He rubbed his neck, wondering if that had changed now, if mother really did care now she had father whispering in her ear twenty four seven.

“Stop it,” his hands were whacked away, Potter coming into sight only long enough to fetch some kitchen roll before he was laying it on Draco’s neck. “If Peters catches you with scratch marks he’s gonna lay into you.”

“Everyone’s laying into me. Why not Peters too?” he bat Potter away, feeling the kitchen roll stick to certain parts of his neck. He probably should find something better to do. 

Someone cleared their throat behind him. Someone who wasn’t Potter currently stretching up to grab one of Draco’s plates from the top shelf. “I could get some dittany for you if you liked?”

Potter’s friend, coursed through his head at the same time his father’s call of mudblood did. Granger walked further into the room, just a little. She wasn’t frightened, she never had been of him, but she was wary. This was unknown territory for all of them. Still, “No. Thank you but I’m fine.”

“It’s just a waste of time ‘Mione,” Potter chimed in. “He cuts his neck open at least three times a day. Sometimes four if he doesn’t get his daily nap.”

“Stalker,” Draco muttered. “And I don’t cut my neck open three times a day. I’m just- it’s the stress.”

Potter’s eyes flicked to the burning howler. “No word from your mum?”

He sighed, sitting up in his seat. “Apparently she’s ready to disown me if I don’t put an end to these awful rumours.”

“She said that?” Potter asked.

“Father said that, as I’m sure you heard before you waltzed in.” How Weasley wasn’t here was a mystery. His father certainly hadn’t been quiet. He dragged the other envelope addressed to him over, “Not that it matters.” Astoria, again. He burned it up with his father’s letter, finding it curious that hers and fathers had come by the same owl. He glanced over at Granger. Still only a few feet in the door, her hands twisting her night shirt as she sent a few pointed looks Potter’s way. “I can leave?”

“No,” Granger said, ambling in a few more steps. “It’s fine. I just, I didn’t think you’d actually be awake.” She took the furthest chair away from him, Draco picking up on the way she pulled her shirt away from her.

Ah. Millicent used to do that on Saturday mornings when a boy she liked had woken up earlier than she thought he would. Just the thought they’d catch her without a bra on had her fidgeting so badly Pansy and Daphne had to bodily cover her on her way back to the common room. Not that he thought Granger fancied him. He just learned, as Pansy and the rest of the female populace had informed him when Crabbe, dimwit that he was, asked what the big deal was, that girls were a little self conscious about things like bras around strangers. They had a lot more filling out their shirts than men did. 

Granger also hadn’t combed her hair, but he wasn’t exactly looking great this morning either. “You sure?” he checked. “I can turn away if you want to freshen up.”

She shot him a look. “I see you’re just as polite as ever.”

He rolled his eyes, accepting that anything he said to Granger would probably not come off as sincere. He shooed the ashes off the table, going back to his food. Then sincerely regretting it when Potter started a fry up. “I heard you and Weasley were getting married?” He didn’t see a baby bump. There probably would have been by now if she was pregnant. Which meant the other reason was correct, they were just in love. How dull. 

“Ron figured since he has six other siblings he felt alright muddying the bloodline a little with me,” she sniped back. Which, touche. If he’d been his younger self he still probably would have been impressed with that comeback. “What about you? Any special people in your life?”

He had to snort at that. “Apart from darling Potter I’m afraid I’m as alone as I’ve ever been.” He left the rest of the questioning to Potter, snatching a few slices of bacon before retreating to his room. The laughter soon started up as soon as he closed his door.

He emerged at lunch, perching himself at the backdoor to watch the snow fall as he ate his sandwich. He dropped off at some point, waking when someone closed the door over him. Potter stared back when he looked, “There’s a nice patch of sunlight upstairs if you want a nap, but I’d rather not freeze if that’s alright with you.”

Draco stretched his neck, ignoring the pointed jab even if he did end up seeking out this patch of sunlight Potter spoke of. 

It was just as he feared. With Granger and Weasley now in the know they weren’t leaving anytime soon, Potter finding him to inform him of another sleepover shortly before their usual dinner time. Which meant Draco was forced to make his own food that evening instead of relying on the kindness of Potter. He couldn’t have Granger and Weasley think he was taking advantage after all. Or not pulling his own weight. Which Draco did. He was the one who often found himself dusting this massive place after all. Usually because he refused to touch something if it wasn’t clean, which hardly anything in this house was.

Regardless, it was a little awkward standing there, feeling eyes on his back as he dug through the cupboards for something easy to make. Something that wouldn’t have them sniggering behind their hands like he knew they were just waiting for. He was lucky, last time they’d all been around the manor, that he hadn’t needed to cook for them. Merlin knew what they’d think of it. Just the idea that he would wait on them was laughable. Seeing it in practice would have them in hysterics.

The urge to order in was getting greater the longer he stood there gauging whether the potatoes were cooked enough or not. But ordering in would mean defeat, and there was no chance Draco was calling for Kreacher. No matter how tempting it was to get him to subtly order something, or even fetch something from Diagon for Draco, he wouldn’t do it. 

Finding somewhere to sit once his dinner was ready was another chore. It was always easier when it was just him and Potter, always had been. With Granger and Weasley around, he felt a little threatened. Maybe that was just because Weasley was glaring at him. 

He ate in his room. Cowardly? Yes. But Draco had never shied away from the fact he was a coward. In fact he embraced it these days, so quite happily chewed down his sorry excuse of a meal and find something to occupy his mind until morning. 

Work called that next day, which reminded Draco, “Shouldn’t Granger and Weasley have been at work yesterday?” It had been Thursday. A working day in the working week. 

“They took the day off.”

Which, if they were Granger and Weasley, was probably possible for them. “Will they be staying over tonight as well?” Some of the muggles were squinting at them, Draco clutching his broom tighter as the bus swerved to the left.

“Probably,” Potter said. “Easier commute. They said they’d come to the game.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know they were allowed to bring people to the games. The next public game, to his knowledge, was the qualifiers to make sure England actually got to play in the World Cup. Unlike last time when they had to rely on the Irish. He supposed, again, that if one were Weasley and Granger, anything was possible.

“That’s not a problem is it?” Potter asked. “It’s just, I think they’re gonna be around the weekend too. They worried before I had a roommate. With one, I think they’re just making sure the house won’t eat us.” More like Draco doesn’t try anything. Potter didn’t have to put a front on for his sake. He never had before.

“I suppose I’ll live.” 

Once the stadium drew near, all talk about home and the affianced couple stopped. It was like Potter was worried about being overheard. Draco was actually after that article. While it wasn’t the worst thing that had ever been printed about him, Draco sure there were some scathing ones out there after the trials, he’d rather no more of his private conversations found themselves on the front pages.

Just as well, Peters talked for the lot of them, exhausting them so much it was a good job they were in London since Draco definitely would have splinched himself if the bus wasn’t available. “Ron?” Harry called, as soon as they got in. “‘Mione? If anyone’s in can you run a bath, I can’t feel my legs.”

Relaxer potion. Draco needed a muscle relaxer potion. Preferably before he sat down because he wouldn’t be able to get back up if he did so. Then he remembered he was a wizard who was fully capable of casting an accio and fell into the living room chair. A bad move, even if the fire sent him all noodly. Granger and Weasley weren’t in when Draco and Potter arrived, but that didn’t mean they weren’t far behind. By that time Draco was too comfortable to even move, making retreat extremely difficult when Granger poked her head in. 

“Potter’s upstairs,” he was sure he mumbled out. He said something to her anyway.

Potter was on the sofa the next time he opened his eyes, Weasley tossing chocolate drops to his open mouth. “I mean,” Weasley said between chewing, “it’s not Auror training. I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it.”

“Just because it’s not Auror training doesn’t mean it isn’t hard Ron,” Potter barked. 

“Harry,” Granger snapped in a tone eerily reminiscent to Draco’s mother. One only someone with immense experience reigning in boys could produce. “You know he didn’t mean it like that. And you,” she turned to Weasley, “just because Harry didn’t sign on to be an Auror does not give you the right to judge how hard he works.”

“Just saying,” Weasley huffed.

“Well don’t,” Potter said.

Granger came between them, shoving Weasley to the side so she could hand Potter some sort of jar. “Right, I’ve read it. Once now and once before bed. Malfoy really didn’t skimp out on price, it cost me a fortune. And it was one of the last ones left”

“I’ll pay you back,” Potter promised. “Anything to make my legs move again.”

Draco shuffled a little in his seat, checking that yes, he could move, so he did. Probably for the best too, Merlin knows he didn’t want to listen to them bicker. Not that they weren’t doing that when he got up too. Save the hollow silence that followed him fetching breakfast, all Draco heard putting his robes on was Potter and Weasley fighting. Actual fighting too. It was almost like being back in fourth year, Draco rolling his eyes at the loud voices who just wouldn’t shut up about Auror training and how Potter had ‘betrayed’ him.

Honestly.

He woke up with a stiff neck. Even with the window stuck shut the heating in this place was awful, and after spending so long shivering, scrunched up tight under his covers, he was surprised a stiff neck was the worst of it. The other three looked better. But then, they probably shared a bed so of course they looked better. Weirdos. 

Breakfast was had in a blur, Draco noting, again that Granger made a point to puff her shirt out a little more than usual, like she hadn’t learned from yesterday that Draco lived here and would be coming down for breakfast. As if that wasn’t bad enough Weasley either sensed her discomfort, or knew she was braless since Draco had eyes on him the entire time he was scoffing his toast down. “You polish your broom?” Draco asked, pointedly ignoring Weasley.

Potter’s head hung back, “No,” he whined, “oh God Peters is going to kill me.”

“Probably,” Draco agreed. “At least I’ll get to play seeker again though so it’s not all bad.” He missed it sometimes. They didn’t bother him nearly as much as seeker. They didn’t have an excuse to. 

“You it wouldn’t hurt you to say ‘it won’t be that bad’.” Potter stood, dumping his plate in the sink before diving upstairs to fetch his broom polish. 

Draco left him in favour of getting ready, coming down to see Weasley shining up the last of Potter’s broom as the man himself stuffed his feet into his boots. 

They were early. Which was a good thing since it took them nearly half an hour to fend off the people wanting to talk and admire Granger and Weasley. Naturally, Peters didn’t have any problem with them sitting in on the game. In fact, the World Cup officials asked if they wanted to go up to the booth they usually reserved for the Minister to cheer Potter on. A fact Weasley looked extremely pleased with as he asked after some potential souvenirs from top tier players as they walked off.

Potter rolled his eyes, then suitably stopped when Peters arrived, barking at all of them to get in line so he could inspect them. He made sure Potter’s glasses were almost glued to his head and Draco’s mark was covered up before sending them off to warm up. It was a long day. A really long day after that. 

They won, since Potter insisted that since points didn’t count he had to get his leg up on everyone else this game and show the World Cup officials that he was, in fact, as good as people said he was. Peters was pleased, sort of. He agreed that next time Potter needed to let other people actually play the game so they could be scouted too, but they won, which always put Peters in a good mood. It also meant they were one step closer to the top three, which no one could be too mad about.

The game wasn’t what made this day long however. More so the fact afterwards, when they’d been dismissed, Granger insisted on filling up their pantry. He had a horrible suspicion she was moving herself and Weasley in, disguising her need for supplies as a way to make sure Potter ate properly. Draco tried to politely decline. He had Andromeda to talk to and whatnot. However, and he wasn’t sure how, but he ended up, in his Quidditch robes, standing next to a trolley watching Weasley decide between red or kidney beans.

A nightmare. 

To make things worse he wasn’t allowed to slink away to his room when he got home. Instead, as an act of camaraderie, or simply to torture him, Granger invited him to stay down with them. To talk. ‘Catch up’ were her words exactly not Draco had been secretly living with her best friend slash maybe on the side lover and she hadn’t known about it. “Not much to say,” he’d shrugged.

Then got glared for it from Weasley and Granger. “She’s only trying to be friendly,” Weasley snapped.

“And I don’t see how what I said was-”

“It’s fine,” Granger interrupted, hissing something at Weasley. “I’m sure nothing really has happened,” she said pointedly, Draco stretching his feet out underneath the table, an ache beginning in his thigh. Why the hell had Potter been allowed to leave and not him? This was unfair. “How’re you enjoying Quidditch?”

He shrugged again. “It’s okay.” As soon as Potter got himself out of that bathroom he was locking himself in until it was time for work again. Screw tomorrow off he’d train with the other team if he had to. 

“Just leave it,” Weasley muttered, taking Granger’s arm until they were both further inside the kitchen.

Potter took ages. Literally ages. It was at least two hours before he came downstairs, a sleepy look on his face as he helpfully informed all of them he may have dozed off in the tub. Draco left just as Granger started up on the dangers of such an act. Draco wanted to point out that he doubted falling asleep in the tub would be the end of Harry Potter. He’d survived so much other ridiculous, more dangerous, adventures that something mundane as water was hardly likely to even flood his lungs. But he didn’t point it out because he didn’t want to be down there with them a second longer. Not even when they called him down for dinner.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to eat either. He did. He was starving in fact, but going downstairs meant either cooking for himself again, or eating the food they’d made for him, since they had, they’d said so, specifically. All of those options were bad. If he cooked for himself, he knew they’d ask why he didn’t think their food was good enough for him, thus sparking a fight he definitely could do without. If he ate their food, God knows what horrors they’d put inside it. It wasn’t like it was Potter’s food either. Granger had made a point of making dinner that night, and Draco didn’t know if she was as good with a pan as Potter was. Weasley would no doubt be smirking the whole time. He might not have put something inside Draco’s food, but the novelty of watching Draco eat something Granger had made would send him to near hysterics.

So it wasn’t worth it, and when Potter came knocking a few minutes later Draco pretended to be asleep. Except, when the idea of actually falling asleep until tomorrow morning dawned he couldn’t because it was another freaking cold day meaning it was going to be another freaking cold night and already Draco’s sore neck was starting to twinge.

He contemplated his ceiling for a good two hours before grabbing his muggle money and apparating to the nearest shop he knew sold blankets. He bought at least four, some of them children's ones since they claimed to glow in the dark and he didn’t believe muggles had that kind of technology. It was a little difficult sneaking back into the house with them. Namely because the four blankets on top of each other made it hard to get through doors.

It didn’t help that Granger, Weasley and Potter were all on the landing when he climbed up, Granger picking at the newly painted walls. The walls he’d painted that she was probably checking weren’t laced with some sort of toxic gas or had hidden runes inside that were to cause Potter some sort of disease. “I put your plate in the oven,” he heard Granger tell him as he closed his door, which meant he definitely couldn’t avoid going down now.

It was easier to sleep with seven blankets draped on top of him.

A howler woke him the next morning. Surprisingly, it wasn’t his father’s voice that screamed up the stairs to Draco’s room. The voice was still familiar however. Someone he’d met a few times when he was younger, then again at the Ministry for his trials. An Auror, now head Auror, and one that was cursing Weasley out for missing work. He wasn’t surprised, not when he realised what was going on. Quite frankly he was surprised Granger didn’t have one too. But, then again, Granger wasn’t training to be an Auror. He was sure whatever comfy Ministry job she applied to didn’t have Robbard’s, a man known to be tough on his trainees, poking his head in every few minutes.

Weasley was gone when Draco got downstairs. Granger was looking to be leaving as well, hugging Potter tight around the shoulders before promising to be back later. “They really are moving in then,” Draco sighed, flopping into his usual chair.

“They’re not,” Potter said, eyes rolling. “And they’re allowed to come over.”

“I didn’t say they weren’t. I’m just saying it doesn’t sound like they have any plans to return to their own dwelling anytime soon.” Potter may as well pick them out a room and be done with it. Anything instead of leaving Draco in this limbo of hoping they might one day leave. He picked his letters up, rifling through the usual rubbish from friends of the past until he stumbled on one with writing that sent his heart stilling. It wasn’t a howler, the letter didn’t burn in his hands until he opened it. But Draco wasn’t stupid. “I think we need to go to the Ministry.”

Potter noticed the letter, his brow furrowing as some sort of long dead instinct kicked in. “Who is it?”

“Uncle Rodolphus. It appears Azkaban gives out home addresses these days.” Or father did. 

“Rodolphus?”

Potter probably wouldn’t have met him. He spent most of his time either at the manor, or out with the snatchers. He despised hanging about, often turning his boredom to the muggleborns the snatchers found. There was a reason some of them didn’t make it to the Ministry for their trial. “He was my Aunt’s husband. Bellatrix’s husband.”

Potter’s eyes flickered down, “I’ll send a patronus.”

By noon, Draco was standing in the middle of Robbard’s office. He’d spied Weasley more than once on the walk up, that red head popping around corners in between whatever training regime he was getting to. Someone had spotted him before he could follow them into Robbard’s office, and just why they were here instead of out in the open, surrounded by witnesses that would at least chronicle the travesties that might befall Draco in here was beyond his understanding.

Potter grabbed his hand, Draco barely registering they were near his neck. “It’s going to be fine,” Potter promised. “You didn’t open it. It’s going to be fine.” He gave Draco’s hand a squeeze, letting it go before grabbing it again.

“I don’t know I’m doing it,” Draco huffed, trying to take his hand back. Potter refused, which meant, when Potter spoke to him again, there was only one hand capable of picking at the scabs on his neck.

Robbards came in a flurry of robes and a scowl set so deep in his face Draco didn’t think he was actually capable of smiling. Potter’s hands twitched in Draco’s, tightening that little bit as Robbards set down an opened sheet of parchment. “No hexes,” Robbards told them. “No jinxes. No curses even. Just empty threats. I’ve sent some Aurors to take a look at Azkaban’s post, as well as the security there, although I’m sure it wouldn’t have been us that let slip your location Mister Malfoy.”

“Hand,” Potter murmured.

He dragged his hand down, his neck stinging as he fought back everything he wanted to say to Robbard’s face. It wasn’t his fault he was doing his job. Draco supposed he was allowed to like it a little too. He certainly won that right in the war. Potter’s hand squeezed his own again, Draco forcing himself to be helpful here. Maybe some good could come out of this, who knew. “My mother knows where I live. She’s residing with my father, but I’ve not spoken to either of them in a while. Father will have been the one to tell him.”

“Not your mother?” Robbards asked, an eager gleam in his eye. He’d been almost desperate to get mother charged. Draco too. Like it was some sort of award getting every member of one family put in Azkaban. 

“She wouldn’t speak to him. She’s not stupid.”

“But she has been writing to your father. Even when he was incarcerated.” Which was true, and something Draco hadn’t been too pleased about but he’d figured it was harmless. It wasn’t like he thought father would ever get out this early. He’d honestly hoped both him and mother would have moved on by the time the idea of Lucius walking free was broached by the Ministry.

“They’re married. They talk. But mother hated Rodolphus. She hated everyone who lived with us. She wouldn’t speak to them.” She barely even spoke to Aunt Bella when she’d been in the manor. Just a passing comment every now and then. Something to keep things friendly between them. Something that wouldn’t land her on the wrong side of the cruciatus curse.

Robbards sat back in his seat, his quill turning through his fingers, appraising Draco for a few moments. “I’ll check Azkaban’s security,” he said again. A clear dismissal.

Potter was the one to drag him out. The one to say thank you too, even as Robbards snapped after them that Potter was wasted in Quidditch. There were hushed whispers following them to the apparation point,  Draco’s ears burning with words like ‘arrested’ ‘escorted’ or anything that remotely sounded like he wasn’t here of his own free will. It was a blessing to get home. Even more so when he realised he had the rest of the day off to wallow in thoughts of assasination. 

That next day, he wasn’t too surprised to show up to work with everyone looking at him again. News of his visit to the Ministry had made the papers, and Draco felt actually weary when he wondered what headlines were being printed as he spoke. Surprisingly, when Wood cornered him later, it wasn’t news of ‘a new inquiry into the Malfoy family’. Instead, someone had caught onto the fact Potter hadn’t let him go their whole trek to the apparation point, Skeeter, a woman who was slowly growing to be a nuisance, had taken advantage of that, and the photo someone had gotten, and used this to further her narrative of him and Potter dallying. 

“Ridiculous,” Draco promised, shoving the paper away. “You honestly think if I was dating Potter he’d still be wearing clothes like that?” Nevermind Draco had left a few more shirts outside of Potter’s door the other night. For someone who was meant to be a wizarding icon he definitely didn’t care about his looks. Something that should have been admirable had Potter not dressed like a toddler who’d just discovered big boy clothes.

“I don’t know,” Wood sang, “You and Harry always had something going on.”

“Please, stop,” Draco near begged. 

Wood knocked his shoulder, the two of them going to find their brooms.

Their next match, against the Cannons, of all teams, happened that Wednesday. Since the Cannons were the Cannons it wasn’t a hard victory to win. In fact, he was pretty sure they were done before lunch. The only reason Draco could see for the Cannon’s possibly being in these knockouts at all were because they’d managed to snag a few mediocre players. That, coupled with the fact, Draco overheard, Weasley had proclaimed them his favourite team in an article a few weeks back, meant they were here, and not in their hometown watching all of this progress from the sidelines.

“They aren’t that bad,” Potter said, the two of them surprisingly alone tonight. Draco was still waiting for the door to go and Weasley to loudly announce he was there.

“They missed three passes. They weren’t even far away from each other. It’s like they want to lose,” Which might be the case. Maybe they were playing the long game. Losing so badly that when they did get a winning streak they could make a fortune off it. The bets people would make alone, especially if they had an inside man, was astronomical.

“Every team has their problems.”

“Yes, but every team usually wins one game out of the League.”

Potter rolled his eyes, even if a slither of a snigger left his lips. He did agree with Draco then, he was just too loyal to Weasley to betray the man like that. Draco picked at his dinner, hackles still raised in case he had to make a quick exit upstairs. “You heard anything from Robbards?” Potter asked after a while.

“No.” He didn’t think he would hear anything either. Even if there were a problem Draco would be the last to know. They were probably monitoring him. Waiting to see if he was in league with whatever Rodolphus was planning. As glad as he was to not have read that letter he couldn’t deny the burning curiosity in his gut wondering what was there. If there were instructions inside. If it had to do with his father. If mother was mentioned. If it was just simple taunts from a man who’d been left widowed and decided to take his aggression out on her nephew. “Weasley no doubt knows what’s going on if you want to ask him though.” Draco had thought about it. But that would mean actually listening to things he didn’t want to. The idea of Azkaban haunted his waking dreams, he didn’t particularly want anymore descriptions to make them more vivid.

“I might,” Potter murmured. 

He ended up writing to mother. Or father, as was more accurate these days. Andromeda too, although he was sure, through Potter or one of Potter’s spies, that she already knew about Rodolphus. Call him paranoid, or cautious or whatever, but Rodolphus had managed to get himself out of Azkaban once, and everyone had full trust in the Ministry then. Now? After he’d seen it literally infiltrated, crippled, in front of his very eyes, Draco didn’t believe in Robbards or his band of Aurors. The owl flew off before supper, and since work had him busy that next day, he tried his best to push Rodolphus out of his mind.

“Stop it,” Potter whacked his fingers, Draco scowling as he watched his nails come away slightly red. “You keep picking at your scabs and I’m buying you a higher collar.”

“I’d think your clothes take precedence Potter since, again, you dress like a toddler.” Which was rich since Teddy actually dressed better than Potter most days. He wiped his hand on his cloak, watching the brooms above them zip around. 

“Have you heard anything from your mother?” Potter asked instead of rising to the insult.

“No.” Just like the last few times Potter had asked. “I fear father’s firmly ground her under his thumb once more.” No letter. Just more hints from his father in his latest passive aggressive attempt to get Draco to talk to him that perhaps he should be spending his time writing to those nice girls who’d deigned to get in touch with him than his perfectly healthy mother. “I may have to go around.”

“Don’t,” Potter snapped even before he’d finished. “Malfoy you know Andromeda wants you to stay out of this. Your mother too. Don’t go ‘round.”

“She’s my mother.” and right now she probably wasn’t thinking straight. He should have been around before now, but, as usual, he was too cowardly to actually take any action in his life. 

“And Andromeda’s her sister,” Potter said, reminding Draco he was still there. “I’m sure whatever’s going on Andromeda can handle it.”

He snorted. He couldn’t help it, but honestly it had been driving Draco insane for months. “She only started speaking to my mother again last year Potter.” A year, almost two. But still, “A year is nothing. My mother was closer to Bellatrix than Andromeda, yet now, because they’re speaking again, everyone seems to think that she’s able to solve all our problems. That she understands us. She doesn’t know father. She doesn’t know us. She doesn’t know anything about what’s happened. I never should have listened to her.” His next day off he was going around. That was it. He’d do it. He had to. 

“She knows some of it-”

“She doesn’t though!” How could she? She’d gotten out. She’d ran off with that muggleborn or muggle or someone Draco would remember later but the point was that she’d ran. She hadn’t been there when Draco was younger. She hadn’t been around the manor when talk of the Dark Lord resurfaced. When he came over. When Draco’s conversations with his parents were driven to secret meetings in the wine cellar. When father left them for Azkaban and Draco… Draco had to be the one to let the Dark Lord in. She hadn’t seen the change in him. So, “I’m going. I have to.”

Potter had his hand. It was only when Potter hissed that he realised he’d been reaching for his neck again, his nails now biting into the skin of Potter’s hand. “At least let someone come with you.”

“I can handle myself.” It wasn’t like there were any dark artefacts in the house anymore. Or, there hadn’t been last Draco had been there. The raids were still occurring around the manor every so often too, so perhaps father hadn’t managed to smuggle anything in yet. Father’s wand was still confiscated too. The worst he could do was hit Draco, and Draco was older than he had been last they’d met. He wasn’t as scared either. 

“It’s not about handling yourself,” Potter scoffed. “If your mother might be making a break for it, don’t you think it would be better to have more than one wand there to help her pack?”

Mother did have a lot of stuff. “I’ll ask Andromeda.”

Potter squeezed his hand, before hissing as Draco pointedly dug his nails in again. “Vicious git.” He shook his hand out, Draco turning back to the brooms above them again.

He didn’t ask Andromeda, despite his words to Potter. Firstly because he wasn’t going to be bullied by Potter into doing anything. Secondly because he was sure Andromeda was sick of being involved in family drama at this point. Mostly because, he knew if he’d asked her, she would have told him to stay behind. Potter he could easily tune out. It was practically ingrained in him at this point to ignore Potter and do what he liked. But Andromeda would appeal to his weak courage. She’d make him see sense that he didn’t have to go back. He didn’t have to see his father and get involved and he would probably listen. 

He would be lying if he said the urge to go back wasn’t already strong inside of him as he walked up to the manor gates. That Andromeda’s voice didn’t circle around his head telling him it was fine to turn back. That she would handle it. But she wasn’t handling it. She couldn’t handle it was what he’d been trying to tell Potter. 

So he shook his hands out and felt along his neck, making sure the cream Potter had insisted on rubbing against his scabs had done its job. His hair was combed, his shoes shiny. Draco was coming back here an accomplished man. He had a job. He had somewhere to stay, a good income. He had friends. Sort of. Wood counted as a work friend, and work friends were still friends in a sense. He had a good life right now.

Yet still his hand shook as he knocked. He tried stilling it, ending up with the pair of them behind his back, his fingers grazing against his wand with every second he stood there waiting for someone to answer a door he would have just walked through a few months back.

His mouth was dry as he heard noises inside, his hand gripping his wand now as he thought about how quickly it would be to just grab mother and take her away when she came to the door. He could have them safely at Grimmauld in under five minutes. She could buy new things. New dresses, new jewels, she didn’t need anything from her-

The door opened, and any thought of escaping quickly left his mind as his father stood before him. He felt rather like he was a child again, walking off the Hogwarts Express that first Christmas to be whacked around the head as his father asked why he wasn’t in Potter’s inner circle. Like such things actually mattered. Like father didn’t end up trying to kill Potter and his friends not even a year later. 

That same sense that he’d done something wrong bubbled in his gut, his breath catching. Up until his father nodded, “Draco,” at him, his lips curling in a way Draco often saw at others, rarely himself. Then the image shattered. His father was a shell of a man. That glimpse Draco had of him in the papers was nothing compared to him in real life. His hair was grey, no longer clinging to the last strands of blond it once had, just fully grey. His eyes were sunken, his hand where he clutched the door so thin Draco could see his bones. Mother had done her best, Draco could see it here and there. The good clothes, the slight sheen to his hair, but the fact remained his father was beaten down, and while he stood there, a step above Draco, what did he really have? A fortune that he couldn’t get to? A manor that stood empty? 

“I’m here to see mother,” Draco said, his voice stronger than he would have thought it would be. “And before you say no, Rodolphus wrote to me, so even if you are going to keep her away, we should address this little breach of privacy.”

Father tried to stare him down, but after looking the Dark Lord in the eye, his father was nothing and he knew so. “You’d best come in then,” father relented, stepping in and letting Draco close the door behind him.

Whatever warmth the manor had managed to leech the last time he’d been here was well and truly gone now. Draco didn’t know if it was because he’d been living at Grimmauld with it’s bright walls and the knowledge that Potter could probably give him a good few minutes head start should things go sideways, or if coming here, without Teddy and Andromeda to balance out the coldness of the manor, but once again his home didn’t feel like his home. 

Father’s gait was slower than it once was. Stilted. Almost hunched as he hobbled his way to the reception room. But he still made a go of getting there first. Of sitting without so much as a glance Draco’s way. Pretending that everything was fine. “If you’re expecting tea you’re going to have to fetch it yourself. Your mother tells me you’ve become quite adept at menial labour since I’ve been gone.”

He didn’t leave. Father was host here, not him. So Draco sat in a chair that made him sit straighter than he usually would and said, “The few house elves we had left were all given to the Ministry. In fact you gave them to the Ministry. So don’t blame the lack of labour around here on me.” It was all a ploy to get into the Ministry’s good books. The house elves had information after all, and they were quick to spill it after witnessing what happened to the others under Lucius Malfoy’s care. “Now the letter.”

Eyes that used to be so warm to him held no amount of love now. “If you’re expecting me to admit my guilt here-”

“I don’t need you to,” Draco scoffed, “You’re already guilty. I know you’re guilty. The only person who knew where I went was mother, and the only person she’s been talking to these past few months is you. I don’t know what game you’re playing. If you were trying to scare me or-”

“Scare you?” Lucius barked out a laugh, “Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“I don’t know,” he honestly didn’t. Was it payback for not landing himself in a cell next to his father? For not keeping the Malfoy name out of the dirt while he’d been in prison? For turning mother against him? Draco didn’t know. “What I do know is that I don’t appreciate death threats or whatever Rudolphus managed to weasel into a letter, so whoever else you’ve sold out my location to I suggest you warn them off.”

“Or what?” Lucius challenged, something twisted entering his eyes, “Ah yes, you’re in with Potter now aren’t you. Will you be bringing him around for tea next time?”

He could feel his nails biting into his skin. “Potter has nothing to do with this. You should want to warn them off because I’m your son. I’m your only son and you’re practically telling them to kill me.” Since that was what they would do. As soon as someone managed to escape, or some death eater that hadn’t been caught yet, someone loyal to the cause, caught Draco alone they’d do it. If Lucius had sent the marching order they’d do it. He’d went down for his part in all this after all. He didn’t hide behind Potter and whatever fanciful lies Potter had created to get the Ministry to turn a blind eye. He hadn’t read Rudolphus’s letter, but even Draco knew the threat inside was real, that it was there and there were others out there who’d deliver on it if Rudolphus didn’t find a way to Draco first. “But that doesn’t matter to you, does it? It never did.”

Father rubbed at his eyes, “Oh your time with Potter really has made you dramatic Draco. Of course I care. Of course you matter, you’re a Malfoy.”

A Malfoy. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Believe?” His father repeated, eyes cold once more when they landed on him, “Draco you wouldn’t still be there if I didn’t care.”

“So that’s it?” he snapped. “I’m alive so I should be grateful? I should feel loved? You let them torture me.”

“And?” Lucius asked, eyes wild, “You weren’t the only one to suffer Draco-”

“No. I wasn’t. But I’m your son,” he reminded his father again. “You should have done more. You should have kept them away. You should have never let them come into our home!”

“It was an honour-”

“FUCK HONOUR.” His heart beat wildly in his throat. “Nothing you did, nothing he did, was honourable. Nothing about that war, about what happened- you have no idea- even now, you have no idea that you were wrong. Or you do and you’re just too proud, too stubborn to admit it.” He could see it now. His father should have learned his lesson the first time the Dark Lord was defeated but he hadn’t, and that was fine for people like Aunt Bella, who’d lost her mind before the second war was even a possibility. But father wasn’t insane. His father was just - just- Draco couldn’t even find a word for him. He didn’t want to find a word for him. “I don’t care if you never speak to me again,” he realised. “I don’t. I have a life now. A job. A home. I don’t need you, and I don’t need your permission to see mother. If you try and keep her away from me again I’ll make sure she leaves you.” He’d try now, but he wasn’t too optimistic about returning to Grimmauld with her. “I’ll make sure you’re alone in this awful house with nothing but your seedy connections and another life sentence in Azkaban. It’s like you said, I’m in with Potter now. In fact, if you haven’t read the papers Potter and I are more than just roommates.” God that felt disgusting coming out, but it worked, his father’s face growing slowly darker as the idea of a Malfoy heir grew fainter in his vision. “He’ll make sure they find something on you, not even because of me. Things have changed since you left. Harry actually likes mother, and if there’s one thing I know it’s that he doesn’t like you, and I doubt that’s going to change anytime soon.”

He stood, his feet easily carrying him out of the reception room. He didn’t run. Quite frankly he didn’t have to. Even if he were scared for his life his father could barely move, and there was no wand to crucio him in place. A glimpse of blonde drew him to the front door, his mother, back in her drab dress, was already holding the door for him.

“Mother,” he tried, yet she shook her head.

“Not now Draco.”

“You promised you-”

“Draco,” she warned, the door still open.

He suffered down a wet breath, “At least tell me you’ve been getting my letters.”

She ducked his head down, planting a lingering kiss on his forehead, “Of course I have,” she promised. “You know he wouldn’t keep them from me.”

Then why was it not her replying to him? He took her hand, wishing he was dragging her out of here. “You were happier without him.”

She kissed his forehead again. “Don’t forget to get a good night's sleep. And if any of those beaters tries to bruise you up again you knock them off their brooms.” Meaning, not now. “Say hello to Potter for me won’t you?”

“We’re not actually dating,” He muttered, his eyes rolling.

She hit his arm lightly as she tugged him to the doorstep. “Be nice Draco.”

He glanced back, promising himself he’d get her out. Father could look as pathetic as he liked but mother deserved happiness. She deserved a life away from him. 

He apparated back, unsurprised to find Andromeda and Potter having tea in the living room. Weasley and Granger were there too, Teddy running into his legs after weaseling away from Granger.

“How is she?” Andromeda asked, her back still to him.

“Alive,” was the only thing he could say right now. He hoisted Teddy up, letting himself enjoy the hug Teddy gladly, unquestionably, gave him. “I yelled at father. I don’t think he’ll be letting me in anymore.”

That got her to turn around. “Are you alright?”

He felt tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as he nodded. He refused to cry in front of company however, so he hoisted Teddy that little bit higher and asked, “Is it alright if I take him upstairs? Potter and I have been furnishing his new room and I want his opinion.”

“Of course,” Andromeda nodded, Draco forcing a smile before leaving.

He made it to Teddy’s room. In fact, he made it to dragging out the few toys him and Potter had picked up the last time they’d went food shopping before the first tear ran down his cheek. He wasn’t even upset, was the thing. Not completely anyway. His chest was tight, but not at the same time. Like he was finally able to see things clearly with every tear that escaped. Teddy, the sweet boy that he was, ended up patting Draco’s cheek, and when that failed, held toy after toy up until he was shuffling a kneazle along with Teddy’s dragon. “I’m fine,” he promised, when Teddy still looked up, checking that the toy was working, “I promise. I’m not sad.” Disappointed maybe, but he felt good. Less afraid. 

He calmed down eventually. Thankfully his cheeks weren’t as blotchy as they had been by the time Andromeda came up to fetch Teddy too, otherwise who knows what might have been said. As it was, Andromeda made sure to hug him tight to her chest, promising that she was always there to listen before yanking her demon of a grandson off Draco’s trouser leg. “Come around for tea some time,” she told him.

He promised he would, seeing the two of them out. 


	13. Chapter 13

After that it was quite easy finding the way back to his room. He wasn’t in the mood to socialise, and if past behaviour was to be observed, him, Granger and Weasley in the same room didn’t make for good conversation.

Weasley and Granger stayed until the next game. It’s as if they were waiting for something to happen. Perhaps Draco lying about fighting with his father, and now, in league with him, doing something nefarious to Potter. That, or they honestly still believed Potter had all the free time in the world since he frequently walked in on Potter fighting with them about wedding plans. 

“That reminds me,” Draco said, poking at one of his new bruises. “Father thinks we’re an item, and I intend to keep it that way for a short while so he’ll let mother write to me.” Maybe he should invest in some sort of chest padding. “The point is, if you could keep from publicly shagging someone for a while I’d be grateful.”

He’d never seen Potter’s brows so high on his head. “I thought you hated the idea of dating me.”

“I do,” Draco agreed. “But you scare my father enough I’m willing to suffer through your longing glances.” He gave Potter a brief once over. Without the awful clothes he wasn’t bad to look at. Certainly better than some of the guys he’d gone to school with. It wasn’t like he would have to do anything anyway. Skeeter had done all of the dirty work herself, meaning Potter just had to keep his mouth shut when he was asked which witch he was inviting into his bed on an eve.

“I don’t longingly glance at you,” Potter muttered, bundling his uniform up.

“Potter that’s all you do.” He tampered down a smile at the look Potter shot him. “I admit, I was distracted in sixth year, but even Goyle, great lump that he was, saw you gazing a little too long my direction on occasion.”

“You were up to no good!”

Draco hummed, enjoying the way that seemed to rile Potter up further. He heard nothing else on the way back, Potter adamant that he was only stalking Draco sixth year because he knew Draco was up to something. Which, while true, didn’t stop the fact that Potter was protesting just that little bit too hard, and he’d missed riling the bespeckled git up. “Alright, I concede, perhaps you weren’t undressing me with your eyes in sixth year.”

“Thank you,” Potter huffed, setting his broom down in the entryway.

Draco let him get to the kitchen before bringing up, “Now fourth year, there’s a different story.”

The fridge closed with a harsh bang, “Fourth year?” Potter demanded.

“Fifth too. Yes, you had Chang on your arm, but let’s be honest here you ditched her in a heartbeat to chase after me.” Yes, mainly it was to fire hexes at him, but the point still stood and Potter knew so.

It was actually quite funny seeing him trying to deny it. “You were riling me up.”

“I always rile you up, and you could have easily went on with your day.” A lie since, well, he knew he hadn’t been exactly nice in school, and maybe younger him had needed a few hexes to the head. But Potter didn’t need to remember that. Just, “You’ve always been obsessed with me. Granted, I can’t see why not, I am amazing. And you have to admit, the line between lust and anger has always been a fine one to tread. Hormones don’t help things either. They get everything muddled up.”

Potter rolled his eyes, diving back into the fridge, “You’re an ass.”

“An ass who’s going to let that insult slide darling Potter because I’m an amazing boyfriend and I actually do need you to agree not to spill any mentions of late night bedwarmers to the Prophet.” 

Something questionable was pulled out the fridge with Potter’s name on it. He’d been in enough classes to recognise Granger’s writing, and quickly prayed Potter wasn’t considering heating that up after the last thing she’d made had him vomiting for at least a day. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Thank you,” he said seriously. He did appreciate cooperation.

“Mainly,” Potter told him, “because I don’t actually like speaking to the Prophet, not because I’m happy being saddled with you.”

“You’d be lucky to get me,” Draco huffed, getting his wand out and levitating that monstrosity of a meal into the bin. “Now are the in-laws coming around tonight or not?” He liked to have at least some warning.

“Ron and Hermione are staying at their place tonight,” Potter said, always insisting on their first names like they were all friends here. He’d even started using Draco’s first name casually here and there. Not enough for it to feel comfortable, but Draco had definitely heard it said around the house every now and then. “Why?”

“Because if there’s less mouths to feed I might be inclined to buy us a celebratory meal.” He missed the dinners with his mother and Andromeda. It wasn’t the same celebrating after a knockout win either. They hadn’t really won anything after all, just been bumped up to another prime spot on the list. 

“Saves me cooking,” Potter agreed, the pair of them bunking down at the front window to wait for their delivery driver.

It wasn’t hard being Potter’s latest. Potter was right in the fact that Skeeter did most of the work for them. Either because Draco’s name had more papers selling, or just the illicit idea of Potter getting it on with a Death Eater was that tantalising. The point was, it felt like every other day there was one article or another out, Wood showing them to them both when they got to work, with something they’d said on their lunch breaks or in the changing rooms that she’d managed to get a hold of and skewer towards her narrative.

The latest was a conversation Potter had about Granger and Weasley’s engagement. The whole thing was more so Potter ranting to Draco, as he often did these days when Draco had to make an effort to look interested, about never having any time to himself. Granger and Weasley, Weasley in particular, seemed to think Potter really didn’t have anything better to do with his spare time, and despite being there when he had scarce spare time, believed he wasn’t so overcome with aches and lists of things to buy that he had time enough to help them decide every important detail of their wedding.

Meaning, that next morning, Skeeter, somehow, had gotten a hold of that conversation and twisted it to Potter lamenting that he never had the time to spend with Draco. Something she was asking her readers whether this was, in fact, a good or a bad thing. “I mean, bad, obviously,” Potter huffed, tossing the paper to the side. “She makes it out like I’m a shit boyfriend.”

“ I mean I don’t see you doing the dishes.” His arm got whacked for that, Skeeter, overhearing or something, again and proclaiming to the wizarding world that next day that Potter was a slob around the house. “But who can blame him when he’s living with a death eater,” Draco bemoaned that walk home, Potter sniggering at his side. “Honestly, I don’t know how she’s doing it.”

“I have my suspicions,” said Potter, who looked like he had more than suspicions. “Still, I don’t know what she’s trying to get out of this. She’s showing me up to be a bad boyfriend more than tormenting you.”

“Do you want me to start talking you up?” Draco teased. “I’m sure I can come up with some sort of compliment if it would soothe your ego. Maybe let a few people overhear. Tell me Potter, was Weasley satisfied with your prowess in bed?” 

A dark look was sent his way. 

“I’m just asking because all good lies come from truth. I can’t very well say you were magical in bed if Weasley’s going to sell a sordid night of horrors to the press the next day.” 

Another dark look.

Draco rolled his eyes, “I’ll come up with something.”

Something he promptly forgot about since their next day at work was a match and he ended up limping to the changing rooms as soon as Potter caught the snitch, his mind definitely not on matters of the bedroom and, or, Potter’s performance in it. “Careful,” Wood said, ducking under his arm to help walk him the rest of the way to the bench. “Peters’s called a mediwitch. You think you could lift your shirt up?”

He nodded, Wood doing his best to keep Draco upright as he fought past his laces to his skin. “Something’s broken.” He could feel it. His mouth kept filling up with spit, his whole body feeling like there was something, some lump, lodged in his chest. 

“Is he alright?” Potter was by his side just as Draco peeled an arm out of his robe. “I saw the bludgers, the ref’s talking about an inquiry.” He took Draco’s other arm, carefully helping it through before downright taking over getting the rest of his upper uniform off. 

“Those were definitely charmed,” someone said to his left. 

“Are you going to be alright Malfoy?” from his right.

Peters came in at some point, the mediwitch not long behind him. Even then it took Peters outright threatening to have her fired for her to start examining his chest. A broken rib was the conclusion, Peters swearing up and down the changing rooms. Something was forced down Draco’s throat, the concoction vile and churning his stomach so much he nearly threw it back up. The mediwitch did some sort of spell afterwards. Or it looked like she did, Draco didn’t feel any better after she’d finished. 

Bed rest was prescribed. A warning, too that he might not be able to play the next game. Which was ridiculous since broken bones were usually fixed up in a few hours. He couldn’t say as much however, his stomach cramping up in a way it certainly hadn’t been before, bouncing off the pain in his chest before going back and starting again.

Wood helped him home, Potter opening doors and generally being a very good nurse. He even fetched Draco some water. A feat Draco wasn’t at all thankful for until a few hours after he’d napped and realised his body wasn’t any better. Not having to crawl to the sink really made a difference.

“I wrote to your mum,” Potter told him when Draco sat back. It looked like Potter had been there a while, his broom firmly over his lap and a rag in the other. “Told her you were injured. Figured that might get her out of the house.”

In all honesty it might, and Draco had never shied away from attention, so he didn’t make too much of a fuss about Potter needlessly worrying people. He shifted further upright, a sharp bolt of pain lacing through his body before evening out again when he sat still a few seconds.

“Still not any better?” Potter asked.

Draco took a deep breath, glad he still could. “No.” Whatever that mediwitch had done was awful. Downright useless in his opinion. 

“Maybe it’s an overnight thing?” Potter suggested.

Draco hoped so. He didn’t know how muggles put up with this kind of stuff. It must take them ages to heal. Agonising ages. “If you help me to the loo you’re more than welcome to get some sleep after. One of us still needs to show up to work.”

“Day off tomorrow,” Potter reminded him, yet oddly didn’t complain about the loo thing. In fact, after setting his broom to the side, he helped Draco drag his legs around to the edge of the bed. With one arm firm around Draco’s lower back and the other helping Draco’s hand on his shoulder, they made it upright. Draco was pretty sure he blacked out for the whole walk there, his vision clearing when he was sitting down again, Potter finally looking uncomfortable. “You er-”

“No.” He didn’t need that much help. Probably. “Just wait outside. Besides, you’re the last person I want to be in a bathroom with.” 

Potter scowled at him like it wasn’t true. But he made no complaint, closing the door to the bathroom and leaving Draco to figure out how on earth he was going to figure this out.

It turned out, a lot of ingenuity, and Draco doing his best to just stay still in his top region, managed to sail him safely through to the other side. That didn’t mean it wasn’t a little embarrassing. Especially since he knew Potter was waiting, right outside that door, for Draco to call him back in. He’d probably heard every wince and groan leave Draco’s lips. Potter didn’t comment on it like he might once have however, just helped Draco back to bed when asked and dutifully took his spot in his chair once more.

“Stalker,” Draco managed to bite out before passing out again.

Sunlight was streaming in when he woke next. There were letters by his bedside, and Potter still in his chair. “How are you feeling?” Potter asked, not looking up from his own letter.

“Awful,” Draco answered honestly. He still couldn’t breathe right. In fact it felt worse today than it had yesterday. Loathe as he was to admit it, “I think I need to see another healer.”

Potter finally glanced up. “You’re really not any better?”

Draco shook his head.

Potter got up, Draco contemplated calling him back, he needed to pee again, but by the time he found himself sitting again Potter was back, and with him two cloaks. “I called Ron and Hermione, and before you complain there’s no chance I can carry you to Mungo’s on my own.” Not with those skinny arms Draco wanted to say, but was having a rather hard time of doing anything right now. “They’ll be here in ten minutes, so do you need anything before we go?”

Draco nodded down, Potter getting the gist if the look on his face was anything to go by. This time was longer too, Draco actually needing Potter’s help beyond waiting outside. Weasley caught them just as they were exiting, and for once there was no sly comment on his lips. Instead, he hooked Draco’s other arm over his shoulders and attempted to carry most of his weight downstairs. 

The pull was beyond painful. In fact, Draco was sure he fainted since he definitely didn’t remember apparting to Mungo’s. Yet they got there in the end, Draco’s head cushioned on Granger’s lap of all things. She didn’t look any happier for him to be there than him, or maybe that was just the result of listening to Potter yell, since, as soon as Draco paid attention, he could hear where his errant nurse had wandered quite easily.

“ _ His kind _ . What the fuck do you mean  _ his kind? _ He’s injured, you’re healers, you’re supposed to help him!” 

Right. Being injured had made him momentarily forget that people weren’t exactly happy to see him. Happy that he wasn’t locked up, or buried six feet under. Potter probably would have had more chance with a back alley healer than Mungo’s. They were here now however, and Potter certainly didn’t sound like he was leaving anytime soon.

“... the safety of everyone here-”

“He was cleared of all charges!” Potter snapped. “He was a kid for fucks sake…”

“How long has this been going on for?” Draco managed to get out.

He felt Granger jump slightly, Weasley who was holding his legs too. It dawned on Draco, after a few seconds of silence that this position might not have been so much to comfort as to make sure he wouldn’t be bullied out. No one would drag him off Potter’s friends after all. “About half an hour,” Granger said after a moment. 

Half an hour. “Don’t suppose you know how to heal a broken rib?” He’d honestly trust Granger to have a go at it too. Better her than whoever Potter would get for him.

Yet, “I’m not healing you,” she told him. “For starters it’s dangerous to even attempt healing magic without formal training. For another…”

“Here we go,” Weasley muttered.

Here we go indeed. Granger could talk more about the theory of magic than any of the professors at school. Just where she’d found the time to research all of this on top of whatever else struck her fancy was beyond his understanding. She managed to tune out Potter’s voice that was for sure, droning on and on until Potter came back, a healer on his heels who’d finally realised if they spelled Draco alright here and now they could just boot him out the door straight after.

Thankfully this one was a little more competent than the one working for the World Cup committee. In fact, Draco was feeling able to sit on his own after the first swish of the man’s wand. “A few hours and he should be back to normal,” the healer pronounced.

“Hours?” Potter checked.

The healer nodded, “Simple spell really. Broken bones are easy.”

Words the mediwitch from work had said too, yet here they were. Draco could see Potter remember that as well. They made it back to Grimmauld without Potter connecting the two dots. In fact, Draco made it to the kitchen, finally scarfing down something that didn’t make him feel immediately ill as soon as he ingested it before Potter asked his friends, “You think she did it on purpose?”

Draco didn’t even have to look to know the other two thought yes. Yet, do gooders as they were, Weasley attempted with, “Maybe she just did the spell wrong.”

“Maybe,” Potter mumbled, Draco feeling the anger building in the room.

It was a wonder he didn’t blow up that night. Draco certainly would have if this had been a few years ago. But it wasn’t, and that lady probably thought she was doing the world a favour by keeping Draco Malfoy out of commission for a while. It would certainly mean he couldn’t train, maybe not compete in the next game. He’d be out of the running for the World Cup team.

That didn’t mean Potter stayed quiet. As soon as they got to work, in fact before that, Draco could see the beginnings of the kettle boiling over. Potter’s brows were drawn down so low Draco half expected to get hexed if he spoke. Of course, in this case, he probably wouldn’t have been. But habit was a hard thing to break, and Draco had been on the other end of that look more times in his life than not. 

People tried to greet them. Wood certainly slung his arm over Draco’s shoulder, telling him how glad he was they weren’t a man down. But Potter wasn’t having it. He bypassed every welcomed hello and good luck’s for training that morning to march right over to where the mediwitch was sorting her potions near the stands. 

There wasn’t any shouting. Draco remembered it took a lot to get Potter to actually shout. At school, the most he’d get were a few snarled comments, maybe a raised voice if they were far enough away they needed to shout to hear each other clearly. But shouting in close range wasn’t really Potter’s thing. Not unless he built up to it. Which, right now, he looked to be.

“What’s Potter doing?” came behind him, Draco, and the rest of their team, turning to see Peters dump his stuff in his usual chair. “He’s not injured is he?”

“No,” Since that question had to have been directed at Draco. No one else was living with Potter here. “Just pissed that the mediwitch didn’t heal me properly. We had to go to Mungo’s yesterday.” Since Granger had made sure to get a letter and send it off last night. Apparently it was law that Peters know about every doctor's appointment Draco had, even if he wasn’t allowed to know what the appointments were about. 

“That’s what that was about?” He didn’t hang around for an answer, near jogging to catch up to Potter, and unlike Potter, Peters had no problem yelling about the safety of his team.

“All this fuss,” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Well you are Potter’s boyfriend,” Wood smirked.

Draco elbowed him, ducking under his arm to grab his broom. 

The world cup organisers were involved when lunch came. In fact, save Peters telling them they all knew their drills by now, there were barely any eyes on their training that morning. Instead, the higher ups gathered around the mediwitch, talks of a formal inquiry whispered around after Emma drifted over during one of her drills.

Draco didn’t hear anything solid about it until they were finished for the day. Even then it wasn’t from Peters or anyone else higher up. Instead Potter jogged over to him, hand grabbing Draco’s arm and tugging him towards the stands. As soon as Potter thought they were a suitable distance from everyone he cupped Draco’s cheek, holding him in place more like it and planting a long, lingering kiss on the other. “They’re going to investigate it,” Potter said, voice oddly louder than it should be with just the two of them present, an odd look on his face as well. “If it’s the last thing I do I’ll get them to treat you properly.”

“Wh-”

“Come on,” Potter tugged him towards the exit before he could finish even wrapping his head around what had just happened. 

Potter couldn’t evade questioning forever. Proven so when he trapped himself on the stairs at home trying to untie his laces. “What was that?”

“I didn’t enjoy it anymore than you did,” Potter said, not looking up.

“Well that’s a lie,” Draco muttered, the last of his dignity telling him Potter got at least a little pleasure in whatever that was. Even if it was the look that had probably been on Draco’s face. “And you didn’t answer my question. Why on earth did you,” urgh, “kiss me?”

“On the cheek,” Potter thought was important to state. “And it was just for Skeeter’s sake.”

“Skeeter?” What the hell did she have to do with this? “I doubt she was around to see us snog, so, again, what on earth was that?”

Potter finally got one boot off with a triumphant hiss, tossing the thing away until it clunked against the wall. “The mediwitch kept saying she did her job, and the committee looked like they just wanted to believe her. I hate Skeeter, but even I have to admit having the media on our side might be beneficial in this.”

“Beneficial in what?” 

“In getting her investigated,” Potter said, like Draco was a four year old. He got the other boot off. “Look, if Skeeter prints something about me going off it about how you’ve been treated, you’re probably going to get more support. More support means more pressure, and more pressure means they’re more likely to actually do something just to save face. I have no doubt that she’s a competent mediwitch, but refusing to treat someone when it’s her job is wrong and that isn’t,” he tossed his boot at the wall, “what I thought would happen when all that shit with Voldemort was over.”

Draco took a deep breath. “Potter I’m a Death Eater-”

“You were a kid,” Potter insisted. “I was a kid. What’s more you were cleared of all charges, so even if you have a fancy tattoo on your arm you’re still innocent and people need to start getting that in their heads.”

Draco didn’t really know how to navigate this. It was teetering on that edge of things they simply didn’t talk about. He did like the idea of not having to go to Mungo’s should he break a rib again, so maybe, just this once, he’d let Potter do his hero stuff and let this whole thing proceed. “Warn me next time you’re going to kiss me.”

Potter snorted, his shoulders dropping, “like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“Just because I admire the male form as much as the female does not mean I fancy everyone who crosses my path. So warning, next time, please.”

Potter rolled his eyes, following Draco upstairs to fetch his own cleaning kit, despite not having flown at all today. “You make it sound like you weren’t obsessed with me for five years.”

“I believe that was you.” 

“Hmm, no, definitely you.”

“You.”

“You,” He heard Potter huff even with two walls between them. 

He woke the next morning to banging on their front door. Potter looked just as confused as him when the pair of them popped their heads out of their doors. That meant neither of them were expecting anyone. Draco’s eyes were threatening to close as he leaned against his doorframe, Potter blinking towards the staircase as silence descended. 

The knocking started up just as Draco turned back to his bed, returning to his space against the doorframe until Potter realised, “Wait I’m getting it?”

“I’m not the one who gets visitors.” Andromeda maybe. But usually his aunt gave them warning before she popped around.

Potter gave a big groan about it before fetching his glasses and starting down the stairs. Draco kept a few steps behind him, ready to sprint should it come down to it. Which it almost did. As soon as the door opened Draco came face to face with the matriarch herself Mrs Weasley. What’s more she could see him, and wasted no time turning her distraught gaze to Potter to demand, “It is true then.” Not even a question as she thrust a paper Potter’s way. 

Skeeter and Potter’s assumption she’d get something printed came to mind, Draco looking for an exit as Mrs Weasley finally gained entry. He settled for going upstairs, surprised at all he made it to his room without something catching him in the back. He locked his door, even shoved his dresser over it for good measure as he worked out the best way to blast that damn window filler off so he could escape out his window.

For the most part, everything was quiet downstairs. Draco didn’t hear anyone chase after him, nor did he hear Potter bodily tackling Mrs Weasley so she wouldn’t be able to chase on after him. Everything was just quiet. 

Then it wasn’t. It wasn’t so much Potter either as Mrs Weasley’s voice being so loud when she naturally talked when she was trying be heard over someone it came off as more of a shout than anything else. Draco told himself that anyway, wand at the ready just in case he did have to climb down his house. 

It felt like hours before she left, again, Draco really starting to hate all these visitors Potter got. Maybe he should start bringing his own people around, see how Potter liked being cooped up in his room. Then again, who would he even invite around? Potter would probably stay down with them too to be polite or something. 

“She’s gone,” called up. Then closer, after Potter had thunked his way up the stairs, “I wouldn’t put it past a howler being sent to you but she seemed to be calm when she left. You should be fine to come out.”

“Says you,” Draco scoffed, but opened his door anyway. 

He didn’t stay inside after that. Instead, as if waiting for Mrs Weasley to pop out of the nearest shadow, he went for a walk. A long walk that ended with him buying a chippie, Potter coming down as if summoned by the grease as soon as Draco stepped foot inside. 

“How many times,” He whacked Potter’s hand away, “they’re not for,” he whacked Potter again, “you.”

That didn’t stop Potter from trying, and Draco supposed those seeker reflexes had to be good for something since he did manage to snag one. “If you bought me some when you went out I wouldn’t have to resort to stealing.”

“You know how to cook.” He held his remaining dinner aloft.

“So do you.” Potter clambered onto his knees, stretching over Draco like that would get him anywhere. “Well sort of. You can make simple stuff.”

“Exactly.” He was almost lying down now, the new rug he’d insisted on for the living room brushing against his back as he pushed his foot into Potter’s stomach. “Simple stuff. Bland tasting stuff. So when I get something nice to eat you should let me enjoy it in peace.”

“Or you know,” Potter bore down on Draco’s foot, “Try and get better at cooking. It’s not that hard.” Draco felt his foot giving way. Mainly because his concentration was on both eating what he had left and making sure Potter’s  weirdly long arms didn’t get anywhere near his chips. Unfortunately, that lapse in concentration meant when his leg did give way, smashing into his stomach, Draco could do neither. Potter gladly, after winding Draco, crawled his way over to the last few chips, finishing them in a matter of seconds with a promise, “I’ll make you some brownies you baby,” when the first whine left Draco’s lips.

“You’d better.” He pushed Potter off, checking his stomach was still in one piece as he sat up. “I expect them by the weekend, no later.”

“Fine.” Potter balled up the grease stained paper, tossing it into the fire. It probably didn’t bode well that the whole thing nearly burnt Grimmauld down with how high that flame went. Who knew what they’d just ingested. But Draco was somewhat full and had the promise of brownies to look forward to as he stretched his feet closer to the fire. 

“Was she mad?” he couldn’t help asking.

Potter set himself next to him once more, his own feet falling a few inches shy of Draco’s. “Definitely.” He huffed, gaining those few inches as he slouched further into the rug. “Less so with you though. Surprisingly.”

Draco hummed in agreement. He knew he’d be pissed if any of his future kids were caught near a Death Eater never mind living with one. Potter could hardly deny that last one either, which meant Mrs Weasley would be dropping around more often. It would probably be a never ending rotation of her and Granger. Draco would never know peace again. “You told her we’re not dating at least though right?”

“Tried,” Potter shrugged. “I think since I lied about you not being here last time she doesn’t believe me anymore. Which is why she’s pissed because, apparently, I’d been sending Ginny mixed signals last time I was over and she was sure we were getting back together.”

“I don’t think I want to hear about this.” He wasn’t going to get up however. The fire was just nice on his cold toes, and after being trapped in his room for the better half of this morning he’d rather not go back to it until he had to. 

“Because it’s a Weasley?” surprisingly Potter’s tone wasn’t harsh when he asked that.

“Because the idea of you having a love life revolts me to my core.”

Potter sniggered. “I bet it does.” He fluttered his eyes Draco’s way, the glasses making him look like a wide eyed idiot. “You just want me all to yourself huh? You always did look jealous when me and Cho saw you.”

“That’s because I couldn’t help feeling sorry for that poor girl.” And he didn’t look jealous. Not at all. In fact Draco barely remembered seeing Potter and Cho Chang around Hogwarts together. When it did happen he was probably waiting for them to slip up on that weird cult they had going on. Not that Draco had any right to talk about cults these days. 

“Jealous,” Potter sang.

“Hardly,” Draco scoffed. “Although if it’ll help you sleep at night I’ll let you believe it.”

Potter sent a smile to the ceiling, the two of them lingering by the fire until it was well and truly burnt out. Only then, and with the threat of work that next day, did they call it a night. 

He’d sort of forgotten about that kiss on the cheek until he walked into work that next day. Potter made a grab for his hand just as a flash went off, Draco’s vision clearing to find Skeeter and a photographer telling them to pose for another. “We want to document this fall from grace after all.”

Potter rolled his eyes, dragging Draco around Skeeter who was asking for an exclusive.”I thought you wanted her to report on us.”

“And she will,” Potter agreed. “That doesn’t mean I have to talk to her. She’ll just make up all sorts of crap. No use giving her actual quotes.”

Draco was approached by one of the World Cup higher ups that lunchtime. Apparently Potter had been right about the media storm putting pressure on them since they asked Draco to give a statement that would probably lead to either nothing, or an actual follow up. The statement itself, once Draco had finished writing out what had happened that last match, mainly consisted of the Cup official asking after his family. About whether he’d been around to see his father lately, or if his name would be on record for a visit to Azkaban. He knew, as soon as those first words left the higher ups mouth what that meant.

“I’m not getting in,” he wrote as much to mother as well, the ink drying with a sort of finality he hadn’t let himself believe.

“You don’t know that,” Potter said. He’d made dinner that night, with a promise for tomorrow to get some stuff for Draco’s brownies. 

“I do.” Which meant he’d be free, sort of, for the summer. He’d still have to go to training. Still have to help out on tryouts and everything else. But mostly he could spend it doing the house. A prospect that was sure to keep him busy while Potter was gone abroad. “They don’t trust me. They don’t want to trust me either. Which is fair,” He hadn’t done a lot of trustworthy things in his life. “This whole investigation is just proof that I’m more trouble than I’m worth. They won’t risk taking me on.”

“You don’t know that,” Potter insisted again.

“We’ll find out then.” 

They didn’t even wait until the last of the knockouts. Peters came over to him after the end of the last game and outright told Draco that his chances of being chosen were slim to none. “We always knew that though,” he said, clapping Draco on the arm. “We’ll give them a few years. You keep showing your stuff on the Quidditch pitch and they’ll be dying to have you for the next one.”

He nodded. He’d been banking on the next one too. Still, it was a little disheartening to hear, and definitely dampened the game they’d won. 

What made things quite possibly worse was the fact someone had let it slip they’d won their latest game, that Potter was that little bit closer to victory, which meant that when Draco and Potter finally trudged home they had a house full of Weasley’s. 

“I’m going upstairs,” Draco decided when Potter, behind him, closed off the other escape route. “Make sure none of them tries to murder me while I sleep off my bruises.”

“So dramatic,” Potter sighed as he purposefully placed himself in front of Draco to greet his fan club. 

The celebration started as soon as Draco was out of sight. So did the few sly comments about ‘ferret face’ still living at Grimmauld. He washed off the stench of the pitch, making sure the corridor was clear before running those few steps to his room. Thank God he had the day off tomorrow. Draco didn’t know what he would have done if he’d had to listen to a Weasley party and get up early that next day. Weasley’s were loud. Louder than the parties father used to throw at the manor that was for sure, and there were less people here than there were at father’s parties. His old ones anyway. The ones he held after Draco’s fifth year were a little more... violent in their volume. 

Somehow he got through it. Somehow, as well, he got through the rest of the knockouts without losing a limb. That wasn’t for lack of trying on the other team’s part however. The committee didn’t even wait until the formal announcement to tell Potter he’d made it onto the World Cup team, calling him off with big grins on their faces as soon as he touched ground with the snitch.

“When does training start?” Draco asked, later, once they’d gotten home.

“As soon as they’ve finished finalising the rest of the team. So, next week? Maybe the one after.” He didn’t look particularly happy about it. Which was a mystery to Draco. Potter had made it into the World Cup. This was every little boy’s dream come true. He told Potter so as well, which ended up with him being told, “I know. I know it’s a good opportunity and all.”

“But?” Draco prompted.

“But, maybe I don’t want to go that far with this Quidditch thing. It’s alright playing in local leagues and stuff. But going worldwide means more media coverage and…”

“And what?” Draco didn’t see the problem here.

“Well it’s all going to be dredged up again isn’t it? I have like a brand now and-”

“Really?” This was what was getting Potter down? The fact that people would be gawking at him. Asking him for stories about his time with the Dark Lord. People already did that. “Potter, I’m going to say something nice to you, and if you ever tell another living soul I did so I’ll finish the job no one else seems to be capable of.” God knows he’d come the closest. Just look at second year. If Draco had chosen the right spell he could have offed Potter without a second thought. “You got into the World Cup off your own merit. You’ll win the World Cup off your training and your skill. People are always going to be talking about you. They’re always going to be asking you questions, so you may as well add onto your long list of achievements something you’re actually proud of. If you don’t want to play in the World Cup then don’t. But I think you’re an idiot if you turn this down. I definitely wouldn’t have.”

Potter bit his lip, nothing more said between them for a long while. 

With the World Cup out the way, at least for Draco, he went back to Puddlemere’s stadium with the rest of his team to await the rest of the names that would be called. He also listened to what would be in store for him the rest of the year while Potter was off in Germany. Peters wanted they to start preparing for the Autumn games, as well as put some feelers out for a few players he had his eye on. After that was, naturally, tryouts, along with a few local games to drum up some funding for a few charities and photo opportunities that were sure to boost the club’s profile. 

“Are you going then?” Draco asked at lunch, awake for once and tossing bits of lettuce to the seagulls who’d decided to swarm around them.

“Think so.” Potter still didn’t sound too happy about it. 

“I won’t say I’ll miss you. I might be able to actually have a nap now. And home, naturally, will be completely remodelled by the time you get back so don’t expect anything you like to be there.” 

That garnered a slither of a smile. “I told you, any improvement is an improvement in that place.”

Draco hummed, wondering just how far he could push Potter before he demanded Draco stop messing about with the house. So far things had been quite alright. Even when Draco brought home those God awful gargoyles for the garden Potter hadn’t complained. Just told him to make sure the gnomes didn’t try and steal them for sex dolls. Which they’d tried, multiple times at that the little creeps. “You’ll have to tell Teddy yourself you’re leaving for a little while. I think Andromeda’s talked about getting tickets if you make it to the semi finals but I doubt you’ll have time to socialise if you’re training with the rest of the elites.”

Potter groaned, head falling back. “I didn’t even think about Teddy.” He sighed, a great big thing that rocked him back forwards. “I’ve already missed so much with him and now-”

“No.” He shouldn’t have mentioned Teddy. “No come on, it’s fine. He’s only three. It’s only for a few months too.”

Potter shook his head. “I already feel like a stranger to him. That’s it. I’m not going.”

“You’re being an idiot.” No one threw away a chance at playing for the World Cup.

“I’m being sensible.”

“He’s three, and this is more than just about him Potter. If you don’t go you’ll regret it.”

“No more than I’ll regret going and leaving Teddy.” He’d decided. Draco could see it in his eyes. Maybe deep down he’d always known he wasn’t going and just needed the right excuse. “I’m not going. I need to go tell Peters.”


	14. Chapter 14

Peters took it okay, all things considered. Draco thought Peters was a little worried with Potter going off he’d be signed to another team when he came back. Maybe a team abroad. Something definitely had Peters taking the news with the gace he did. Wood on the other hand had nearly the same reaction as Draco to someone giving up their chance at playing in the World Cup. Meaning he spent a good hour, hour and a half telling Potter he was being an idiot, was he sure he wasn’t imperiused, how could he possibly not go play for the World Cup.

It was a miracle Potter managed to escape from Wood. Even more so he didn’t get slaughtered by the rest of the team when the listing went up and people without Potter’s credentials were looked over. “I can sense them glaring at me,” Potter said, crouching lower on his bench. 

Draco didn’t even try to deny it. He wished them luck too in whatever they were planning for Potter. As for him, he grew tired of telling Potter he was an idiot around the five hour mark and settled for simply focusing on his own career. It appeared people thinking he was dating Potter was driving his name even further into the mud. While yes, it did deter his father from sending more of his family Draco’s location, the rest of the wizarding world wasn’t his father, and, more importantly, didn’t appear to be afraid of Potter and his capabilities. Proven when Draco’s usual howler or nasty letter from his father was replaced with random girls he’d never heard of before telling him he would never be good enough for Potter and he had to be damn good in bed since that was the only reason they could think for why Potter would be interested in him.

Which, in all honesty, he wasn’t too mad about. Let people think he was spectacular in bed, he may as well have something going for him. 

Potter didn’t see it that way. Apparently anything that was an attack on Draco was an attack on him, which meant Potter ended up exploding half the howlers before they even got to the nastier parts of their letter. “I used to say far worse stuff than that to you,” Draco recalled over breakfast. It was possibly the first week he hadn’t come home aching and covered in bruises. Draco had almost forgotten how nice that was. Maybe it was a blessing he wasn’t playing in the World Cup.

“Yeah but we went to school together. I don’t even know these people and they think they have a say in my life.” His wand poked at a few other letters scattered around the table, as if waiting for the tell tale smoke to start up so he could obliterate that too. “Ted’s coming over this weekend by the way. Mrs Weasley too. I can take one but there’s no chance I can handle both of them.”

“In that case Teddy and I will be going on a lovely outing to the shops before retiring to further decorate his room.” He wanted to get one of those tiny desk things for Teddy. Something Draco could sit at with him and help him start on his numbers. Maybe make a few drawings Draco could pin up on the walls too. 

Potter pulled a face. “Are you sure you don’t want Molly? I think she’s starting to warm up to you.”

“She called me an ‘interloping homewrecker’ last time she was over.” Just because he’d went up to his room did not mean he didn’t hear what they said downstairs. Especially the volume Mrs Weasley spoke at. 

“That’s just all Ginny stuff.” someone definitely didn’t want to be stuck with the almost in law. “You know if you had a conversation with her-”

“What? She’d see I’m some straight laced boy? Potter I may not be working for… you know who, anymore, but I’ve never been someone anyone wanted to leave alone with a Weasley and you know that.” The amount of bad blood between his and their family would not be washed away in his generation. Maybe the next. But Draco had definitely destroyed any vestiges of friendship he could hope to form with that clan of redheads. “No. I’m afraid you’re going to have to weather her on your own.”

Potter gave a great big groan, yet he was all smiles and laughter when the weekend came and Mrs Weasley passed their front door. Draco did his best to blend in with the shadows. Most notably because she wasn’t alone. She never did seem to be when she came over here. It was like they were trying to intimidate him out of the house, one Weasley or another always on her flank, making sure he was outnumbered. Today it was Potter’s almost wife herself, Draco  definitely making sure to keep out of her way. He may not like the Weasley’s, but even he’d heard how vicious Ginny was when it came down to a fight.

Thankfully, Andromeda wasn’t far away. Looking exhausted beyond belief, she handed Draco Teddy and told him not to contact her until tomorrow morning unless something life or death happened. Teddy stared up innocently at him after his grandma left, like Draco didn’t know he was probably the sole reason Andromeda was dead on her feet.

He lifted Teddy onto his hip, grabbing his muggle money and calling out a goodbye before Teddy realised there were other people in the house. “I’ll let you pick one toy out okay? And only if you’re good.”

Teddy ended up with four, and a new desk, and a bunch of sweets. Much more than Draco had set out to buy, but since his mouth was still sticky with toffee he couldn’t complain.  Even with all that, Draco dragging it out and taking Teddy to the park to play for a little while, they returned to Mrs Weasley still in Grimmauld place. Draco didn’t know if she’d started with something else or simply had so much to say about Potter refusing the Quidditch World Cup team she was still going but that was all Draco heard when he stepped inside hours later. Teddy made a face at the loud noises, Draco tempted to take him out again to buy supper, maybe con a muggle establishment into thinking it was Teddy’s birthday to get some free cake as well, but that was just being lazy, and in all honesty Teddy looked tuckered out. There was no way he’d be able to stay awake through a three course meal.

Maybe next time.

“Come on then.” He nudged Teddy with his foot, wishing he’d went first when Teddy’s tiny legs struggled to climb up all of Grimmauld’s stairs. “Remember, you’re keeping Mr Octopus here.” as well as those animal playsets. Draco had been meaning to keep some toys here for Teddy, yet every time Teddy came over they seemed to mysteriously go back with him. “I’ll get uncle Harry to make you a nice toy chest for them.” Or maybe shelves since Teddy had started to hide in chests, and all Draco needed was for him to get stuck in one and die from starvation because no one had thought to check the toy chest.

“... of your career!” drifted up to them, Teddy making another face.

“Molly is loud,” Teddy stated.

“She is.” and unfortunately it looked like she was going to be around all of the time now so Draco was going to either have to buy earplugs or learn to put up with it. He put the desk down, contemplating it for a moment before promising to get Potter to do it tomorrow. “Right. Bath time.”

“Noooooo!”

Mrs Weasley was still here even after Teddy had been changed and set loose. She’d hadn’t moved on either. Only this time, instead of talking about his stupid decision to not be a world famous seeker, she’d moved onto his wasted potential. “All those grades Harry and you’ve gone into Quidditch. You could be anything. I thought you wanted to be an Auror.” It was like listening to a broken record with these Weasleys.

Teddy yawned in Draco’s ear as they ventured closer to the living room. As tempting as it was to walk past Draco had been instilled with manners and the like he was actually cursing his parents for right now. Knocking once on the wood, quietly at that, he was surprised when silence did fall, asking, “Teddy’s having his supper if you want anything from the kitchen.”

Potter, head back against his usual chair, looked almost relieved to see them. “I’ll do it.”

“No chance,” like hell he was leaving Draco with Mrs Weasley.

Yet Potter had already gotten up and was about to take Teddy off him. “Nonsense, you’ve had him all day. It’s about time I pulled my weight.”

“I hate you,” Draco hissed as Teddy was taken off him.

“I don’t care,” Potter hissed back, moving gladly off into the kitchen.

“Fine,” it wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine at all. “Make me something too.”  He turned back to the den of vipers awaiting him. 

The polite thing to do would be to go in. Maybe apologise, maybe give his condolences since he was sure someone from their brood was dead. But Draco’s self preservation instincts were screaming at him to stay where he was. Anything he had to say wasn’t welcome and both him, and them, knew that. Far be it they talk about him when he was gone about his appalling manners than the attempt he’d made to be civil that would, most likely, come off as some sort of jibe. A way for him to rub their loss in their face. Not just for their missing family member either. He was the one staying with Potter. Who had his name next to Potter’s in the papers, even if he was sure Potter had cleared that mess up with these people. He was the homewrecker, keeping Potter from permanently moving into their familial home. So, best stay where he was.

It wasn’t like they knew what to do with him. He didn’t even have to look to feel the glare the Weasley matriarch was sending his way. The other two weren’t any better. But at least he’d spoken to them before. Even if it was just to torment them. “Any plans now you’re free from school?” he sent Ginny’s way.

He saw her eyes narrow. Like she was trying to sense some sort of insult in there. However there wasn’t much someone could infer from ‘what are you doing now?’ so pretty quickly the glare lessened slightly, Ginny sitting back in her seat to tell him, “I’m trying out for a Quidditch team actually.”

“Oh?” God. That meant he might have to see her at work too. Wood hadn’t seen Weasley play Quidditch had he? All he needed was another person hounding him. Weasley wouldn’t be as genial as Potter either. Peters would definitely have to confiscate her wand if she started playing for Puddlemere.

“Yeah. Been training since I left actually,” she splayed a little in her chair, “I figure I have a good chance at making a team. Maybe one of the good ones too.”

He felt his eye twitch, his hand slapped as Potter reared his head again, Draco relaxing his palm from the claw he’d been aiming upwards. “You didn’t tell me you were going for Quidditch Gin,” Potter said, nuding Draco that little bit further out of the room to get back in. Teddy tugged at his pants not long after, Draco picking him up easily as Potter went back to his guests. “I’ll see about getting your name on one of our tryout days if you like?” Followed him upstairs.

“I’m tired,” Teddy announced in his ear.

“Me too,” Draco sighed, setting Teddy down in Draco’s room since they still kept forgetting to actually buy a decent baby proofed bed. “Do you want anything out of your room before I read you a story?” 

Teddy shook his head, taking his plate over to Draco’s bed and climbing himself up. He was going to be finding crumbs for days, he could just sense it. But right now he had little energy to care as he set about cleaning up anything a late night Teddy might find fun to poke around with. 

Supper dealt with, and after near forcing a three year old to pee so he wouldn’t be woken until at least midnight for the toilet, he dragged out one of Teddy’s new favourite books and forgot for a while the world was an awful place that was practically telling him he had no right being a Quidditch player.

He dropped off before Teddy, Draco was sure of it, waking to his room delved in darkness and his spine stiffening up as something made his skin crawl. 

It took a second for him to hear it again. Even shorter for him to reach for his wand he’d dropped next to his pillow and aim it at the door. Potter stared back at him, the door creaking that little bit further as he held his hands up. 

The fight flew out of him, Draco dragging a hand over his eyes as he made sure Teddy was still asleep. Shoving his wand into his pocket he got up, shoving Potter until the pair of them were outside. “They gone?” he yawned.

Potter made a face, Draco hearing the creak he’d long ago registered belonging to the first step. Potter’s voice was lowered when he spoke, almost as if he didn’t want anyone hearing him as he said, “They wanted to say goodnight.”

“To me?” What time was it? It certainly felt like it was later than usual company stayed.

“To Teddy,” Potter corrected with a grin. “But I’m sure they’ll wish you a goodnight if you ask for it.”

He made a face, knowing for a fact that sort of goodnight would be permanent if they had the chance. “He’s sleeping.”

“And I’ve told them that.” Potter whipped his head towards the stairs before, even quieter than before, asking, “Can they just poke their heads in? It’ll save me a massive row.”

They wouldn’t kidnap Teddy. He hoped they wouldn’t kidnap him. Potter was still living here after all. “I’ll move him into your room.” They’d definitely look upon it kinder if Teddy wasn’t in a room with a death eater. 

“Thank you,” 

Draco did as he said he would, gently moving Teddy until he could be gawked and awed at by the Weasley clan. He was still rubbing his eyes, forcing himself to keep awake, when he heard the door go downstairs, Potter opening his door once more with Teddy still snoozing in his arms. “You didn’t have to bring him back,” Draco moved anyway, falling back onto his own pillow. 

“Saves me being jumped on at four tomorrow,” Potter waved off. “Night.”

It was if Potter had the sight or something since Teddy did, indeed, wake up at four that next morning. Demanding every breakfast food he could list, he didn’t stop until Draco was awake, standing and following Teddy’s small yet fast legs to the kitchen. How someone had that much energy at this time in the morning was beyond his comprehension. Even Draco had waited until five before waking when he was a child. Four was still dark. Four meant Dobby wouldn’t come to his door since father had explicitly told the elf to let Draco fend for himself until a reasonable hour. Just why Draco hadn’t known until later in life he’d discovered that when Draco was awake Dobby had to wake father and mother to inform them of this. So, putting off Dobby attending Draco gave them a good hour longer in bed. 

Something he made sure to tell Teddy when his demands for pancakes at this ungodly hour were getting a little too loud. “So be very thankful that I love you so much I’m willing to be awake right now,” he kissed Teddy’s messy blond hair and set a plate in front of him.

The pair of them made a face at it, Draco sliding his own portion of ‘pancakes’ towards him. He would gladly admit he was a little spoilt living with Potter. Potter made him meals after all. Or at least let Draco pick at whatever he was making that night. Meaning Draco hadn’t really had the motivation to keep up with his culinary skills. He was sort of regretting that now. 

“You know what,” he slid Teddy’s concoction towards him, “don’t eat that.” he looked in the cupboards for something else they could eat, coming up with nothing but bread and the many, many sweets he was sure he’d hidden in his room last night. Kreacher must have snuck in the awful beast. “Right, how many dairymilks is it going to take for you to wake uncle Harry up for breakfast?”

Teddy pretended to think about it before holding up two fingers, “Three,” he said, proving, again, that he desperately needed some sort of formal training. He still pretended to count them out anyway, making sure all two of them were there before scurrying upstairs.

It didn’t take half as long as Draco thought it would for Potter to stumble downstairs, Teddy on his hip. His hair looked like it had been blasted with one of Finnigan’s spells, glasses just as wonky on his face as he looked blearily around the kitchen. “Heard you blew the place up.”

“Put it back together just before you came down.” 

Potter nodded, like that made complete sense, and went to make them something decent to eat with the few ingredients Draco hadn’t destroyed in his attempt at pancakes. 

Andromeda came by at eleven. Which, in Potter’s opinion, was a shame since he didn’t actually get to see Teddy yesterday. He griped about it for a good hour after the two of them had left until Draco told him, “For god's sake you can visit them through the week if you’re that desperate. Now can we please focus on the more important part of our weekend?” Namely Ginny Weasley potentially joining Puddlemere.

Potter, naturally, was overjoyed with the idea. Despite her being his ex, he was all for having another one of his pals on payroll. “Maybe Molly will finally leave me alone if her daughter’s playing Quidditch too.”

“Or,” Draco thought, which was more probable, “She’ll say you’re a bad influence holding her daughter back from a job in academics. Or,” even more probable, “Weasley will take this as an opportunity to push the two of you together again. All it would take was the right day, the right romantic notions, add in some adrenalin and the two of you will be popping out Potter junior before she’s twenty three.” Then she’d be unstoppable. Eugh. Just imagining the bragging rights the Wealey’s would have for decades if they tied their bloodline to Potters was turning his skin.

“She wouldn’t do that,” Potter said, although his face didn’t look quite as convinced as it probably should be.

It was a drearily cold and wet week after that. So much so Peters actually cancelled flying practice on Tuesday. Then practice altogether when the lightning striking the ground proved to be a little problematic to running laps. Draco didn’t like it. When he was at work he came home covered in so much mud he actually had to ask for Kreacher’s help to look presentable the next day. When he wasn’t at work he had so much pent up energy he’d be driving Potter up the wall if he wasn’t in the same boat. 

The two of them chanced going for a run on Friday, when practice was cancelled again. It wasn’t his favourite experience put it that way. He’d never ran with someone before, and Potter had all this experience running from death that he almost made it difficult to keep up. The ran splashed in great waves up his legs too, Draco half wishing he’d worn shorts before the cold crept in as the water dried and he realised that would probably have resulted in a trip to Mungo’s. 

The two of them were dripping by the time they got back, Potter bumping into the fence as his glasses clouded with so much water he could barely see in front of him. Draco ended up having to steer him through the door, his shoes and socks abandoned before Kreacher popped into existence. He didn’t even listen to the complaints Kreacher was making about dripping along his lovely ‘clean’ floors, stripping down to his underwear before racing to his room. 

Grimmauld was colder than hell itself, that was all Draco could say as he clambered back down to the ever flickering fire in the living room. He dragged his usual chair over, before giving up on it and curling up on the rug. 

It was a good half hour before Potter joined him, his hair still wet, but more from the bath he’d just had than the rain. “You know Muggles have these things called gyms. I might see if there’s any that’ll let me pay one off.”

“Gym?” Like the big sports hall they had back at school? He hated that thing. Mostly because he was always paired with Blaise who always looked down his nose at Draco like he was some fly on the bottom of his shoe. Which, again, made him question just why Blaise wanted to get in touch with him again. Pansy he could understand. Maybe Theo. But Blaise? 

Potter’s foot lightly tapping his ankle brought him out of those bleak times. “There’s still hot water if you want to warm up.”

Tempting. “No. Thank you though.” He knew Potter wasn’t always so considerate with the hot water. It was hell doing the dishes sometimes. 

“Suppose it’s not like the ones at Hogwarts. You were a prefect right?” and from the sounds of it Potter knew about the prefects bathroom. No doubt he discovered it on one of his unsanctioned adventures Draco still didn’t know how he didn’t get expelled for.

“I never really used it. Apparently it was more of a girls bathroom. All of them proclaiming that they needed it after having to share a bathroom for most of their school life. The horror. We had to schedule weeks in advance if we wanted so much as a look nevermind a bath.” Not to mention Weasley and Granger had access to it, now that he remembered. That was probably how Potter got into it. Regardless, “The horror of potentially walking in on Weasley doing his ablutions also made me keep to my dorm.”

He heard Potter snort. A soft thing, probably not even something he’d planned to let out. But it had happened, Potter trying to save himself afterwards by telling Draco, “You honestly need to start being nicer to him.”

“I will,” He sighed. It wasn’t like he was able to avoid him these days. “I still don’t want to know what he does in a bathroom though.”

Another snort, Draco looking over to catch Potter burrowing into his jumper. 

“I’m thinking of putting a shower in,” Potter said after a while. “It’s quicker.”

“Good to know.” He’d seen a few while he was out. While the wizarding world was more for baths he knew what a shower was. In fact, it might be preferable at this rate to a bath.

As if reading his mind Potter said, “It might get you to actually clean up.”

He looked over sharply, “Are you saying I smell?” He knew for a fact he didn’t. What use was it being a wizard if he couldn’t cut corners here and there. He did bathe too. Just not for as long as Potter did.

“I’m saying you’re sitting down here miserable and cold while you could be relaxing in a bath right now. It’s not the first time you’ve shied away from a bath too Malfoy.” He held his hand up, “And, before you say I’m stalking you, we live together. I notice when the bathroom’s free all the time.”

He huffed, his shoulders hitting the rug again. He supposed Potter was right about the living together thing. He knew things he definitely hadn’t known before, and wouldn’t know, were they simple acquaintances. Like Potter’s habit of going for something to eat in the middle of the night. How he kept his door unlocked. Not just unlocked but cracked open, like he was afraid of being shut in. Not usually through the day. Through the day he liked to lounge in different parts of the house and generally trip over Draco like he wasn’t allowed to make himself at home on the floor. Just at night. “It’s not that I don’t like them,” he heard himself say. “I just… things about it set my nerves on edge these days. It’s easier to avoid it if I can.”

There was silence. Draco looked over to find Potter burrowed even further in his jumper, eyes on his fire. “I thought I’d be like that more,” Potter said after a while. “Strangely I’m not, which makes even less sense. Walking into your house I thought it would be like that. That I’d end up bolting out, but, when I got there it just looked like a house.”

“That’s because you weren’t there long,” Or maybe it was the fact that Potter had been through so much trauma in his life he simply knew how to get on. Draco wished he was the same.

“No,” Potter agreed. “I wasn’t. But I did see through Vol-you know who’s eyes. I don’t remember the manor being a very nice place when he lived there.”

This time Draco was the one who snorted. “You know, he was actually the most pleasant to be around sometimes.” Which was saying something about the rest of the company that was kept there. “Certainly preferable to my aunt. The way she treated mother was… I could have killed her. I should have, but I was just-” he sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

“I can’t even imagine,” Potter mumbled.

He didn’t know why he said what he did next. Maybe it was having it all bundled up for so long. Or maybe it was just lying here, in a home that didn’t threaten to kill him if he turned the wrong corner. Or even, loathe as he was to admit it, that it was Potter sitting there and not someone who’d look at him like he was some repulsive creature if he said more than two words to them. Regardless, he found himself lying there, telling Potter, “The peacocks lasted around three weeks you know. As soon as they moved into the manor at Christmas I’d hear the peacocks screaming outside. They’d use them for target practice. To test their new wands out or just because they wanted to remember what it was like to torture some poor creature. Mother tried to get them to stop. I begged her to do something. For father too. But father was making plans for even more guests, and if someone wanted to kill a few birds why stop them?” 

He hated them for it. He used to go to bed with a pillow over his ears to stop himself from going down. From putting himself in front of them, or sneaking a few birds out of the manor grounds. They would have killed him. He couldn’t use his wand, not if he wanted to get out of the manor again, to go to school where all he had to worry about was his exams. If he were a little braver maybe having a wand wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe going back to school wouldn’t have mattered so long as he’d done something. 

“The muggles turned up before I started sixth year. Father made me watch. Said it was character building, and I had to see a dead body at some point so why not now?” He could still hear the blood dripping. “Sometimes they didn’t even use the killing curse. They never cleared the bodies away either. It was a job for the house elves, but the house elves were already overrun with food and correspondences and cleaning out the other bodies that were still waiting to be moved so sometimes they’d just lie there for days.” 

Aunt Bella was the worst for that. She liked to crucio them until they died. Their hearts giving out so quickly Draco didn’t know if it was the remnants of the curse or their bodies naturally thrashing that way.

“Even with all that Wormtail was the worst. I hated him.” Awful, disgusting man.

“Wormtail?” Potter repeated, his voice barely a whisper as his eyes poked back above his jumper.

“He used to stalk me. I thought at first it was because the Dark Lord had given me that ‘special task’.” He should have told Dumbledore. He should have told someone about it instead of letting Snape convince him to go through with it. What sort of teacher was he? Letting a sixteen year old kill another living creature. How anyone thought that was alright- he shuddered out another breath. “Then he started cornering me. Telling me things about when he was younger. Apparently he was in school with Sirius Black. Had a bit of a grudge against him.” Or something. Draco could never tell if it was admiration or hate that had shone in Wormtail’s eyes when he spoke of his old school chum. Anyway “He’d get this look. I didn’t like it. It was only when he started going on about mother, about how I’d gotten her looks, how I looked like Black, that I started to understand I shouldn’t be around him.” He turned his head, wondering if Potter knew, “He’s an animagus you know. Or was,” since he was dead now. That had been a lovely thing to discover. “He used to scurry along the corridors. I could hear him trying to burrow under the door at night, or waiting outside the bathroom.” 

“Do you know what he wanted?” Potter asked quietly.

Draco shook his head. “He wanted something though.” Whether that was to torture Draco or something else he never found out. He didn’t want to find out. “I told father. He said I was ‘being childish’. Mother at least tried to help. Until Bella caught her and thought she was fussing over nothing.” He rubbed his eyes, “I hated him. Hated the lot of them.”

He shuffled closer to the fire, willing everything to just go away until he was once again looking at the flames flickering in the grate. Silence returned as the dripping in his ear disappeared, Draco’s shoulders relaxing once again into the rug. 

Something pelted him in the back after a while, Draco whipping around to find his duvet at his back, Potter stretched out on the sofa, wand still aloft. “You looked pathetically cold,” he said.

Draco rolled his eyes, but did wrap himself between his sheets after a moment. “Is it nightmares that keep you up?” he may as well ask. It wasn’t like he had anything to lose at this point. Potter already knew about the darkest things in his life.

Strangely Potter didn’t ignore him. “Sometimes,” he said. “Other times I just wake up with this awful feeling. I think it’s having my own room again.”

“Or, you know, fighting in a war?” since that was sure to have anyone wake up with an awful feeling. Draco certainly did some nights.

“Maybe,” Potter agreed. “But at least at Hogwarts there were always people around. I could hear them even if my curtains were shut. In here, it’s like being back home.”

“With those muggles?” He remembered. The ones that had stormed out calling Potter unnatural. The ones he never got on with. 

“They’re kind of like the muggle equivalent of, I don’t want to say Voldemo- er, sorry, you know who, but, like they hated magic. Any mention of it and they wanted it destroyed. They hated me. Locked me away, pretended I didn’t exist unless they needed me to do something.” He stopped for a moment, eyes on the ceiling before saying, “Sometimes I wish I could close my door at night. With it open it’s like-”

“One less layer of protection,” Draco nodded.

He saw Potter nodding too. “But if it’s closed I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Draco felt that sometimes. Like being in there he was trapping himself. His exits were limited, nearly nonexistent. At the same time he could defend himself better from a closed room. Find a wall while they were picking away at the locks and the barricade to ready himself for a fight. “I get the best nights sleep at Andromeda’s. Not even in a room. Just on the sofa, with the television on. Sometimes I wish I’d went there instead of here. But she would have worried for me, and maybe if Ted hadn’t been around that would be okay but? Not now.”

“Molly’s the same. She wanted me to stay with her at the Burrow. Still does. But I’m an adult, and honestly, there’s only so much I can take before I go off one and I don’t want to do that to her again.”

“And people say you’re a peacemaker,” Draco scoffed.

“Right?” Potter huffed. “It’s like people think I talked you know who to death.”

Draco couldn’t help laughing at that. Then found he couldn’t stop, gasping into a ball. He vaguely heard Potter doing the same, the pure absurdity not wearing off for a good two minutes. 

The silence, when it came again, was nice. Nice enough Draco didn’t find himself wanting to fill it. His limbs didn’t feel so rigid either. But that also could have been the fire working at last. Either way, Draco wasn’t surprised to find himself waking up in the living room that next morning. What was surprising was the foot in his face, Potter’s snores coming from the other end of his quilt. Git couldn’t be bothered to accio his own bloody quilt.

He stretched his toes out, the fire still warm against his back. Sometimes Draco loved magic. It meant the fire could stay on all night, and Draco didn’t feel tempted to go upstairs when he woke, groggy, on the weekend. Even if Potter was a snorer. 

They didn’t move at all that day except to fetch food and maybe pee. For some reason Draco didn’t want to, and after rearranging himself so he wasn’t talking to Draco’s feet, Potter didn’t want to move either. Kreacher checked up on them every now and then to make sure they were still alive, other than that it was mostly quiet. Sometimes Potter would say something, some anecdote about his awful childhood Draco was starting to see he might not have made any better in his youth. In his defence however, Potter was a git. 

“It wasn’t all bad,” Draco said when it came to his turn. “Father was actually quite nice, once upon a time.” Which he’d said before. He’d never shied away from the fact he’d had a good childhood. “He used to help me chase the peacocks around the gardens. Mother told us off, but she did it herself when one of them stole her bracelet or whatever else she let them take off her.” He remembered watching her screeching through the fields demanding they help. Father merely told Draco to sit, then, to his wife, she was the one who’d told them to leave the poor things alone. It was one of the happier memories he had of his home. “Things didn’t really start going wrong until Hogwarts. Father started getting more snippy. Mother said it was because I wasn’t around as much. That he missed me. I wrote to him more after that.” Really it had been the rumours going around, of Quirrell finding something on his travels. Of notes coming to the manor from someone telling the troops to start mobilising. 

Draco would like to believe that things didn’t turn bad until the end of fourth year but he would be lying to himself. Things hadn’t been good ever since he left home for the first time. 

“Still, a sight better than your childhood I’ll say,” he muttered.

Potter pushed him, the pair of them sniggering further under Draco’s blanket.

“Dudley wants to come over again,” Potter said after a while. Dudley being the large boy Draco remembered running after his parents. “I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

Draco’s face twisted. He didn’t know what to say about things like muggle families. Especially Potter’s. He didn’t know if his opinion would be welcome either. But, “If you want to invite him over I can go out for the day again. The whole day too. Andromeda’s probably dying for a sitter.” and going over hers was always a pleasure. 

Potter hummed. “I just don’t want Vernon to come.” the loud one.

“Don’t let him in then.” Easier said than done he knew. “Or, I don’t know, invite your cousin somewhere neutral where your uncle won’t want to go or, if he does, cause a scene.”

Potter hummed again. “Maybe.” He left it at that.

Another great night of sleep followed that day, Draco waking well into the late morning. It was over breakfast, still pleasantly rejuvenated from two nights of decent sleep that Draco decided he may as well ask. The worst that would happen was Potter laughing at him, and he was well used to that. “What if we shared a room?”

The pan clinked as Potter set it back down, two plates sliding onto the table a few seconds later. It took a second for Potter’s brow to unscrunch. “How do you mean?”

“Well, I certainly sleep better with someone in the room, even if it is you.” Actually probably because it was him. “And you said you didn’t like closing your door when you were alone. We don’t have to move all our shit together, just, I don’t know, find a neutral room to sleep in?”

Potter mulled it over for a while, which was better than laughter. Eventually, even he couldn’t deny he’d had a good nights sleep. No wandering, no curses in the night as he fought with the baby gate. “I guess. No cuddling though.”

“I said share a room not a bed.” He’d have to move a few things around. Clean out another room. But they were going to do that anyway so, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. “Maybe one with a lock.”

“We have those spare ones we bought,” Potter remembered, the two of them going up after breakfast to see which of the many rooms they wanted to convert into their second bedroom. 

Eventually they had to go a floor up. Draco would be damned if he was going to repurpose one of his cousins or, God forbid, his Great Aunt’s room’s. His own was bad enough, he didn’t want to think about the nightmares he’d have in one of the others. Potter seemed to agree. Or couldn’t be bothered to move all the crap out of the other rooms since they found a relatively empty room on the third floor and called it a day. 

Draco debated for a while, after they’d cleaned the floor and checked for anything that could eat them, whether he wanted to drag his bed up. He did like it. He’d gotten it comfortable too. But he also wanted something to lounge on, maybe nap on when the occasion hit, in his own, private, quarters too. “Ikea?” Potter suggested, staring in at his own empty space where his bed had once lay. They ended up leaving the shop with a few sofa beds, Draco promising himself he’d set it up on his next day off as he dragged his mattress and frame up another floor. 

This one didn’t have a baby gate. But, then again, Teddy didn’t go up to the third floor when he stayed over, and so long as he thought Draco was still inhabiting one of the second floor rooms he wouldn’t be curious about exploring that high up for at least a few more years. 

All in all it was a rather sad space. No bright splashes of colour, no gaudy furniture. Just two beds on opposite sides of the wall and a table between for their wands. A bit of a trek considering they were still using the second floor for most things but, he had to admit, lying there with someone between him and the door gave him that little bit of comfort he’d been missing all these years. Even if they didn’t talk long into the night like Draco used to with his dormmates it was better than lying there watching the shadows. Potter seemed to think so too, since Draco didn’t hear him get up through the night. Or, if he did, he was too knocked out to actually hear him.

Whatever the case, once their first week was out of the way, Draco could say it worked. He was finally starting to sleep again. A fact others benefited from as well as Draco since he no longer spent his lunches trying to catch a nap. He was still tired, running about all day would do that to anyone, but he wasn’t ready to call it a day after an hour. 

“The final teams are being sent out next week,” Wood told them that Friday. His hands were shaking as he dragged his broom behind him. 

“You’ll make it in,” Potter promised. “You have to. They’d be mad not to grab you.” 

Draco hoped Wood made reserves at least. It would be a little lonelier in the local games but even he had to admit one of them should be able to play in the cup this year, and Wood deserved it. He definitely put the work in. Potter agreed, and save a few comments about who else he thought would get in, he didn’t seem too bothered about the line up. No last minute regrets popping up anyway. Draco still thought he was insane for turning them down. 

“You thought anymore about your cousin?” Draco asked when they’d seen Wood off. Potter had been bringing it up more often this past week, as if he was convincing himself it was a good idea. 

Yet, “Maybe later on in the year.” Like a few months of ignoring each other would accomplish anything.

But, it wasn’t Draco’s life, and he had his own things to worry about so he let it go. 


	15. Chapter 15

Wood made it in. 

Draco found out about it before work, sitting at his kitchen table and trying to ignore the shouting coming from one of the rooms around him. He was starting to remember why he’d despised Weasley so much in school now he was around Grimmauld near constantly. Maybe for different reasons this time, namely that he made Draco uncomfortable in his own house and always had some sort of comment about how useless their careers were. Or, well, Potter’s career as a Quidditch player since it was never Draco he told was only running around a pitch for a few hours every so often. Whatever the case, Draco hadn’t enjoyed waking to yelled conversations about Potter not being able to make a cake tasting. Even more so that he had to shut himself in the kitchen because wandering about his own house might drag him into whatever turn the conversation had made by now. 

Therefore he wasn’t in the best of moods when a patronus popped up in front of him. Draco may have even screamed a bit. A scream that was hopefully drowned out as Wood’s voice started babbling a mile a minute telling Draco he’d “MADE IT! I MADE IT! I’m telling everyone, but I thought you’d want to know Malfoy.” and, well, Draco couldn’t be mad at a bit of good news.

As soon as the patronus disappeared he popped his head into the ongoing row next door and informed them, “One of us got in. Wood’s patronus’ll probably be here in a few so pretend to be shocked.” He still wasn’t sure how patronus’s worked. Did they see through to the other end when sending a message? Well, if not, it was better safe than sorry. 

He ducked out just as a silvery bolt of light entered the room.

Granger was on the landing when he finally finished his breakfast. Staring down the bathroom door she looked miles away, her hand absently scratching the words Draco remembered his aunt had carved. 

He wanted to leave her to it, but, well, she was sort of in the way. With no gap large enough for him to slip past either Draco forced his nice hat on and asked, “Are you alright?” 

Granger started, her hands slipping behind her back before falling to her sides. “Malfoy,” she said more to herself than him. Not a question, more a statement. A recognition that he was there, that he was real, and Draco shouldn’t have known what that felt like but he did. 

“Weasley and Potter are scrapping downstairs. I take it cake tasting’s a real challenge.” Maybe he could have been a little nicer to her. But Draco didn’t really know how to speak to her. He hadn’t really wanted to before. Not that it mattered. He was sure whatever he said to Granger came off as aggressive. Too much bad blood. 

“It’s fine. Thank you.” She looked a little more put together when she turned to him. Her hands no longer twitching restlessly by her sides. “Is he alright?” and in those three words Granger told him all he needed to know about why she was up here instead of down there playing peacemaker.

Bathroom she might be at right now but Draco bet she had been lingering outside of Potter’s room for a while before moving. He wondered if she’d gone inside. Noticed a few things that were missing, or if she saw the room as it had always been. Had she been in Potter’s room before? Whatever the case he couldn’t help turning the question on her again. “Are you alright?” because this wasn’t about Potter. Not really. She just didn’t know it yet.

Her chest puffed out a bit as she straightened, “Why wouldn’t I be?” she challenged.

He shrugged, finally slinking around her. “Just a hunch.”

He was surprised he didn’t get hexed going back to his room. 

Or stopped for a longer conversation. 

Granger let him go, and later that day, the door locked and Draco wiggling his toes to warm the quilt up faster he debated on bringing it up with Potter. It wasn’t like it was any of his business. Except, he supposed it kind of was. They were the ones who kept coming around here causing trouble. Trouble for Potter and him. It hadn’t stopped at the argument this morning after all. In fact, with Weasley and Granger there all day Draco found himself severely inconvenienced at least several times that day. The last had been his nightly ablutions interrupted by the toilet door opening, as it sometimes did when someone stormed past violently enough to force the broken handle to lose its last grip on the doorframe. He’d never scrambled so fast in his life to close it again, and found himself in a foul mood even now as the lights went off around him.

“You know they feel left out right?” He decided. Screw it. If it meant he woke up tomorrow with no one interrupting his morning piss then fine, he’d meddle.

“What?” 

“Weasley and Granger,” he rolled his eyes just speaking their names. Merlin, how was this his life. “They feel left out. Or they feel like you’re being left out. That’s why they’re here all the time pissed.”

“W-” There was a beat of silence. “That’s insane. They don’t- I mean- they’re not left out-  _ I’m _ certainly not left out.”

Draco heaved a sigh, turning on his side until he could see the faint outline of Potter. “I didn’t say you were, I said that’s how they feel. Granger was asking after you.”

A shift, Draco vaguely being able to make out the curls on Potter’s head. “So?”

“So?” he rolled his eyes, “You think Granger’s going to ask me about you if she had a choice? She misses you. She probably feels like she’s spending no time with you- which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.” 

“I spend a lot of time with her. I was around theirs last weekend. Are you sure you’re not just reading into things.”

Draco wished he was but, obviously Potter hadn’t been paying attention because, “think of it this way. You don’t live with them. They’re now a couple. It was alright in Hogwarts, all they had to do was turn around or walk down a corridor. It’s not the same. And with you three probably sharing a bed in your weird little gap year it’s probably hard for them to be away from you.” Not to mention the fact Potter was not only away from them but living with their, he was assuming, mortal enemy. But he wasn’t going to mention that part. The less his name could get talked about tonight the better. “They’re moving on, and you literally have no ties with them right now.” He wasn’t an Auror, meaning no seeing Weasley all day like they’d both probably hoped for. Nor did he have a Ministry job where he could work with Granger. Potter was on his own, in his own home, a place they had to knock to get in, and even then Draco might not let them in if he was home alone. “They’re probably just trying to include you with this wedding crap so they have an excuse to pretend things are still like school.”

He waited for Potter to tell him he was wrong. That he was just being stupid and Draco should keep his nose out of things that shouldn’t concern him. Yet Potter didn’t say that. Instead, a quiet, “You really think so?” floated over to him. 

“Well it’s either that or the three of you are actually getting married to each other because I can’t think of another reason as to why someone should be that mad about a bloke missing a cake testing to a wedding they’re not either bride or groom of.” It wasn’t like Potter didn’t have a good excuse either. They had work. Like, somewhere with a contract that told them they needed to turn up or they wouldn’t get paid. 

There was a deep breath, then the slip of fabric as Potter lay back down. Draco followed suit, silence falling once more until dreams took him.

He woke to late morning and a letter from work telling him practice was suspended until that next month. He’d been expecting it. With Wood now signed, Peters was going to have to go into talks about contracts and all sorts of other things he’d need to keep Wood after the Cup was finished with him. There was word a few others had made it onto the English team too, and between that, no local games for a good three months, tryouts ages away and the fact Draco had spent the last few weeks in all manner of bruised up and tired he’d never been happier to fall back into bed. 

Potter was just as bad. With no Granger and Weasley to bother them they literally didn’t get out of bed that Monday. Tuesday they made it to the kitchen before lounging in the sitting room, Draco unearthing an old N.E.W.T’s book to waste the day on.

Wednesday they both decided they needed to do something productive with their time off. 

After a run, the rain soaking him so badly he literally had to strip at the door, Potter proposed they try and fix up the bathroom. 

“Absolutely not,” Draco shook his head. “No. Not happening.”

“Can I ask why?” They were standing in front of it, Potter with a tape measure in hand and a notebook on the floor like he was some sort of handyman. 

“Because if you fuck it up we’re going to be left without a bathroom when work starts again. I’m relying far too heavily on cleaning charms as it is. If you take away my scarce baths we’re going to be getting a letter of complaint from Peters.”

He could see Potter’s smirk out the corner of his eye. “We could literally just fix the lock.”

“No.” because what happened if they didn’t fix the lock? What if they made it worse? What if Draco got trapped in there and- no. “No.” He didn’t like being in there as it was. Trapped and he didn’t know what would happen.

The smirk dropped. “You really hate bathrooms, don’t you?”

“I’ve not exactly had the best experiences in them put it that way.” 

Potter’s eyes dropped, and Draco had honestly forgotten about their little fight. It seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of his life. The scars he barely even noticed when he changed these days. “How about the kitchen then?” Potter decided on.

He hesitated. Which was enough of a go ahead from Potter to start measuring away, the kitchen becoming their new project zone. 

They measured everything. Everything. Even the small cubby Kreacher liked to put his cooking utensils in. His tiny, scrubbed to the bone, utensils. 

They went to a few muggle DIY and fitting places that next day. Potter loved it. He was turning knobs and lifting grills like it was christmas come early. But then, he did spend a lot of time in the kitchen. Draco supposed if he cooked as much as Potter he might himself be a little more giddy at the idea of having an oven that didn’t take half an hour to warm up. Or a cooker that didn’t have mould still living in the fan no matter how many times they’d scrubbed it. 

The fact he could personalise it too had Potter in a good mood. So much so that Draco came home that next afternoon to find Potter near skipping down the stairs. He kicked his shoes off just as Potter presented some weird looking metal thingies.

“They’re taps,” Potter said when Draco didn’t immediately congratulate him.

“Right.” Taps. They didn’t look like taps. Where was the nozzle? He dragged his shirt off, the thing literally making a thudding noise it was that heavy with rain. 

“I-” Potter cleared his throat, Draco kicking his pants down alongside his shirt. “I thought we could put them on our new sink. The snake for cold and lion for warm.”

“Oh.” That’s what they were, the hot and cold parts. “Er, yeah, I guess.” Although why Potter would get a lion and snake was beyond his understanding. 

Until he was in his room finally shucking his underwear and remembered that was their whole school spiel. Snake for Slytherin, Lion for Gryffindor, and, okay, he was maybe a little hurt that he was cold. Yes, maybe it made sense in a logical way, snakes were cold blah blah blah. But the wider part of his brain couldn’t help wondering if Potter thought he was cold. Also why Potter was putting a snake on his new tap at all. Were badgers and ravens going to crop up too in this new renovation or was it just lions and snakes? Was Potter just doing this because Draco lived here? It wasn’t like it was permanent. Yes, for now it was. But Draco was intending on moving out as soon as he got mother away from home. 

He called himself an idiot for dwelling on it. If Potter wanted a snake in his kitchen then let him put a snake in his kitchen. Draco didn’t care. 

Not until later when he could see them up close as Potter cooked dinner. The snake… it looked eerily like the ones back home. He was pretty sure there weren’t many styles a snake tap could come in, and maybe that was why. Regardless, he felt like there was a pit growing in the bottom of his stomach as he counted the grooves along the snake’s back.

It didn’t really bother him. They looked like the ones in school as well as home. Potter had probably chosen them for the nostalgia, Merlin knows Draco had caught him coming out of the Slytherin bathroom’s more than once over the years. Still, something had Draco feeling weird by the time night came upon him.

He woke to darkness. He couldn’t remember dropping off, which just made waking up here that much more confusing. Everything looked weird. Even where he was lying, the wall in front of him wasn’t its proper colour. It was darker, the wall actually having patterns instead of a smooth full colour. Other things pricked at him too. His bedside table wasn’t there, which meant his wand wasn’t there which meant he didn’t have his wand and-

He heard rustling. A grunt. Someone was in his room. His limbs locked, breath stilling as he thought about what to do. His wand- his wand wasn’t there. He didn’t have his wand. Someone was in his room and he didn’t have his wand. He felt himself shake, his body locking even tighter as he listened for another rustle, another breath to tell him where  _ he _ was. It had to be him. It just had to. He’d been lurking outside Draco’s door. Right? Draco remembered counting the scales on the bathroom sink as he waited for someone to come past the bathroom. Someone to call for  _ him _ so Draco could run to his room and lock the door.

He felt sick. 

He wasn’t in his room and- and- the quilt moved. 

He jumped, falling off the side of his bed and crawling as fast as he could away, out of this place. His knees banged hard on the wood floor as he scrambled up, his hands falling out from under him more than once until he was up, he was at a window and-

“Malfoy?” 

He knew that voice. Light lit the room not long after it, Draco looking around to see…

He felt like an idiot. His hands left the latch as Potter stood, the light growing brighter until the dim overhead lights of Grimmauld switched on. He was home. He was in his room, just not the room he remembered. His new room. 

His heart was still pounding in his throat as Potter noxed his wand. He was in his room. With Potter. Not… 

“Malfoy?”

“I’m fine,” he forced out, voice shaking only a little. “It’s fine,” he tried again. “I just. I think I fell and-” why was he explaining? Potter hadn’t seen. He’d probably just woke up as Draco clambered to his feet. “We should get back to sleep.”

“Malfoy-”

“Harry I’m tired.” Potter could stay up if he liked but Draco was going back to bed. He was. He would. He’d go to bed and turn the light off and everything would be fine. There was no one on his quilt. It was probably just his imagination or the wind or something. He was in his room. Potter would probably die before him if someone did break in since he was closer to the door than Draco. Meaning his dying screams would give Draco enough warning to escape and run and be somewhere else.

He made it back to bed somehow. The lights did go off as well. Potter’s didn’t however. He kept it on as he crawled back into bed, Draco feeling eyes on his back as he slowly let his feet drift back down the bed. It stayed on as Potter’s glasses clattered back to the joint cabinet between them. Even as a quiet, “Night Draco,” drifted over to him. It stayed on until he closed his eyes and sleep took him once more.

They were woken early that next morning to braying on their door. Draco steeled himself for another unwelcome visitor, only to be pleasantly surprised to see Wood on the other side. Grinning from ear to ear, he had a letter in his hand for Potter, and World Cup robes for Draco to fawn over. Even a new broom.

“Everything has to be regulated. Even the uniforms. Did you know they’re made of a different material to ours?”

Draco hadn’t known that. Nor had he known a few other little bits of gossip Wood let loose about the Cup. It turned out after a stellar performance Wood had managed to make reserve keeper. Peters was trying to bump him into a few games, and maybe if someone took an injury in future it might happen, but the initial keeper they had was just too good for them to lose. An older man, probably four years on Draco, and a reputation Draco had gone up against himself in a few matches, it was actually impressive they’d considered Peters proposal for more than a second. Yet they had, and regardless of that fact, Wood was on the team. He was playing for England. 

He was also the spokesperson to try and get Potter on board. If the whole spiel of giving Wood his uniform early, not that Wood probably suspected that, then the letter he’d given Potter on arrival sealed it. The World Cup officials were formally inviting Potter one last time to play as first line seeker in their team. An invite that quickly found its way into Grimmauld’s fire as soon as Wood left their house.

“You’re insane,” Draco told him, “and you better pray no one finds out they invited you twice otherwise there’s going to be hell on.”

“Then you’d better keep your mouth shut,” Potter said.

Draco rolled his eyes, watching the letter crumple to ashes.

He did keep his mouth shut. About a lot of things actually. He kept Potter’s little secret as his friends came over to bother him again. Just like he kept his mouth shut about that stupid snake tap still sitting on the kitchen table, just waiting for a sink to call its new home. 

It was petty. It was ridiculous. He was a full grown man who shouldn’t find a tap, of all things, scary. Yet there he was, staring at the damn thing as Weasley a room over asked Potter again if he really didn’t want to have a say on the menu. Idiot. 

At least Potter was handling things a bit better than last time. Well, sort of. Draco honestly liked when Potter blew up at Weasley. When it wasn’t inconveniencing Draco himself it was down right entertaining. Potter really knew his way around insults. 

He was half tempted to go watch them for a while. Right after he figured out the best way to remove this damn snake thing from this house. Potter could install all the snake shit he liked after Draco moved out. But until then… maybe he could simply hide it away. Or find something Potter would like better.

Maybe he could persuade Kreacher to break it ‘accidentally’. That would mean actually talking to Kreacher however. Something Draco was still trying not to do, even if he did see the elf coming out of his room near daily. Maybe he could slip leaving Draco’s room alone between bouts of sabotage. Or just write Kreacher a note and avoid talking to him altogether. But a note could be found by Potter and-

“What on earth is that thing?”

Draco felt his neck pull as it snapped around. Granger tutted at him, her eyes fixed on his neck where, yup, he was going to have to break the dittany out again. He went to fetch it, watching out the corner of his eye as Granger finally rounded on the snake tap. “Potter found it,” he said before she could accuse him of influencing the decor around here. “We have a lion one for the hot tap too.”

Granger hummed, her face twisting the longer she looked at it. “It’s er…”

He dabbed a bit of gauze, pulling out another chair as he dabbed at his neck. “If you don’t like it I’m sure Potter would be open to other suggestions. Maybe a lioness.” Huh. He should have thought of a lioness as soon as Potter brought that first one home. It was very Gryffindor-y. Very in theme.

Her face twisted further, “I mean, if he likes it, I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”

“Does he though?” Draco muttered. Why a snake? Out of everything why a snake? 

He felt eyes on his face. “Do you like it?” Granger asked.

He forced himself to shrug. “It’s not my house. Potter was gracious enough to let me decorate my room, and that’s really the extent I want to keep it. Don’t want to be too familiar, you know.”

She hummed, the two of them staring at the tap a moment longer before the insults, finally, started up in the next room. She left as soon as words of Weasley’s mother were shared.

He found himself staring at the tap more often than he would have liked. Rarely through the day. Once Granger had calmed Weasley down they’d managed to worm Potter’s renovation ideas out of them. Meaning Draco found himself dragging his feet on another excursion to the DIY shop, this time listening to three people give their opinions on a kitchen that only one of them would be using. He was forced to hold all manner of things as sinks were dropped off and cookers disassembled. Forced, even worse, to listen to things like ‘we bought this model Harry’ ‘why don’t you trust our opinion Harry’ ‘are you sure you don’t want to move in with us Harry it’d save you a lot of money’. That last one maybe boiling his blood more than he let on. All of them knew well enough of Potter left Draco would be out of a home. Again. 

But he kept his mouth shut because Potter didn’t want to leave. He liked his home. He told them so himself. So Draco was safe. Even if he wasn’t happy with this place literally being turned into his worst nightmare.

With the new sink installed Draco found himself night after night waking up with sweat pouring off his body. Feelings of being in the wrong bed, of something not being right, always forced him awake. Sometimes Potter woke, Draco waving him off with more talk of needing to pee or falling out of bed. More often than not he didn’t, and Draco found himself here, in the kitchen, a glass in one hand and his other rigidly by his side. As stupid as it was, that snake was the only thing keeping him from something to drink and Draco, time and time again, no matter how many times he told himself it wasn’t going to hurt him, found his hand unable to move.

It was the principle of the thing that made him feel ridiculous come morning because every night, without fail, he’d give up. He’d give up and swallow down the stale tasting water from the bathroom instead. All he had to do was turn a stupid tap and be fine, yet there he was, crawling into bed with the aftertaste of something not quite right on his tongue.

He seriously hated himself.

“We made the paper,” Potter told him one morning.

Draco felt some sort of news article hitting his head, his brain still fogged from sleep. “Did I die?”

“No,” Potter snorted.

He tossed the paper off him. “Then I don’t care.” While he did hate the papers, there was always something morbidly fascinating with the ways they, every now and then, tried to claim he was dead. The last one had been him being seen going into a shop in Diagon and not coming out. Well, he did, and truthfully Draco thought the photographer either hadn’t seen him or hadn’t wanted to see him since word of his murder spread the front page after that. It was rather unnerving the level of detail they went into as well. Almost like they were living out their own fantasy. It made him all the more adamant to avoid as much of the wizarding world as possible.

There was a rustle, then his bed dipping as Potter stretched himself out next to him. “Potter gives up World Cup dreams to commit to boyfriend.” Draco yanked the quilt up higher as Potter read the awful article about them. “Why am I always the shit one in this relationship,” Potter huffed. “Seriously, I supposedly give up a chance at the World Cup for you and all they’re focusing on is that you were seen carrying the bloody sink.”

“It was really heavy.” He tried to block out more of the morning light. He’d had another late night staring contest with the sink in question a few hours ago and was still recovering from another loss.

“It was not you baby.” 

More silence, Draco feeling Potter’s legs stretch out and back shift that little bit further onto Draco’s pillow. The git was actually making himself comfortable. “You have your own bed.” One that wasn’t even a room over might he add.

Potter hummed, the paper rustling, and such was his morning. 

When he finally crawled out of bed it was to Potter following him to the kitchen, that damn sink taunting him as he waited for Potter to make them something nice to eat. Then gave up when Potter just sat himself down and fetched some toast himself.

“What’s the plan for today then?” he asked, feeling a little more awake. 

“Depends.”

Draco downed the rest of his pumpkin juice. “On?” he prompted.

He could see the smile Potter was trying to hide. “On whether Hermione’s coming around again. Ron has work, but I think she said something about helping us install the new fridge coming.”

“Oh.” He wanted to hate the idea of Granger coming over, but Granger was probably the only one out of Potter’s little friend group who could actually figure out how to safely install a fridge. Plus, she wouldn’t make Draco do any heavy lifting, what with the whole still trying to ignore he existed unless he was in her way thing she had going on. “Did she mention a time or…?”

Potter snorted. “I thought you liked renovating. What happened to the guy bringing paint swatches home?”

“Painting isn’t standing for hours on end holding a heavy sink while  _ your _ idiot friends fight over what the right pipe is.”

He thought he saw Potter hiding a smile. “Whatever the case, force a smile, we still have a lot more renovating to do and I’m not breaking my back when you’re just lounging around in the room beyond.”

Draco grumbled. He may have even whined and complained, but he was there when the fridge was dropped off, and followed Granger’s instructions to the letter as she plugged and unplugged the wires that made the fridge tick. He had to say, after it was installed and he had a minute to really look at it, he liked the idea of his food not being surrounded by mould. He could have sworn in that other one there was something living in there. Something that nibbled holes in his cheese and leftovers. Maybe it was Potter. But Draco usually heard when Potter was in the kitchen. He had a sort of sixth sense for it too when he was out of earshot. After all, when Potter was in the kitchen, that meant it was feeding time. 

He still hated that bloody tap though.

For two weeks it woke him up. Made him think he was back in a room he’d called his own for almost all his life. It was stupid. It was ridiculous. He was a bloody grown man who knew it was a stupid, idiotic tap. But it did. It bothered him. It made him feel weird and made him want to tear his hair out because he shouldn’t feel weird about a tap of all things. 

Then it was gone. 

One morning he just woke up and it was gone. He went downstairs, his body bracing itself to look at the damn thing after staring at his ceiling all last night trying to persuade himself to go down and get something to drink. Yet when he rounded the corner to the kitchen he didn’t see a snake staring back at him from the sink. Instead there was a stag. Its antlers would prove to be annoying when Draco mindlessly pressed down on it a bit too hard some days, but it wasn’t a snake.

He pulled the cold toast Potter had already buttered towards himself, eyes fixed like that alone would dispel whatever glamour Potter had put over the sink. Ten minutes he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to be obvious about it or, God forbid, sound like he missed it and find another one in its place come that evening. Eventually he couldn’t hold off on asking “The tap?” 

The paper crinkled, Potter’s scowl breaking as he glanced over to the sink. “Hermione broke it yesterday. Thought you’d noticed.”

“No.” He hadn’t. Although, to be fair to himself he hadn’t even known Granger was around yesterday. Without Weasley it was often impossible to tell when she was in Grimmauld. Well, almost impossible. But Potter hadn’t done anything idiotic in days so things had been relatively quiet. “Are you keeping the stag then?”

Potter pursed his lips, shrugging, “I guess. It looks nice. Might have to change the hot tap to match though.”

“Right.” Since, apparently, lions and snakes could go together but not lions and deer. What an odd world Potter lived in. He hopped himself up, the antlers cool against his fingers as he twisted it. No revulsion overtook him. No urge to vomit down the sink. It was actually a relief to touch it. He sat back down, Potter’s paper covering his face as Draco looked up. “What’s it today then?”

“Cupboards.”

Which was disgusting. 

“And no,” like Potter was reading his mind he said, “you’re not getting out of it.”

“But I have things to do.” Lounging. Reading. Napping. Maybe sending a letter to Andromeda to save him from the monotony of house renovation. It had been weeks, she had to be dying for a babysitter by now. 

“Malfoy,” the paper was set down, Potter quirking a brow at him, “You literally spent all of yesterday after the fridge was put in harassing the gnomes in the garden. Since it’s belting down I doubt you’ll be running-”

“I could run. I am running-”

“Not for the full day you aren’t-”

“The cupboards are disgusting!” Awful. They had  _ things _ living in them. Things like Kreacher. Things worse than Kreacher. 

“Which is why we need to clean them.” Potter’s foot bumped into his leg, “come on. The fridge is nice isn’t it? You like knowing your bacon isn’t being gnawed on.” He did like that. “Just think how much better you’ll feel when you don’t have to check for maggots before stuffing your face with biscuits.”

Unfair. This was unfair and Potter knew it because if he left Potter to do this alone Draco would forever be wondering if the job had been good enough and they both knew it. “The fridge is nice,” he eventually admitted.

Potter beamed back at him.

Cleaning the cupboards was just as bad as he thought it would be. Potter got a good laugh out of it, which he supposed went some way in mending whatever lingering resentment was between them. Just like Draco felt a little better when he watched Potter squeal trying to bat off an awful slimy thing that had made its way onto his arm. 

Kreacher harassed them when Potter almost killed himself. Apparently some of the wood was useless. By that he meant Potter had bashed his face off the cupboard door after putting only a little bit of weight onto one of the shelves. The whole thing had collapsed underneath him, leaving Potter bleeding and Kreacher screeching that Potter was ‘destroying the most ancient and noble house of Black’

“How dare Harry Potter,” Draco sniggered, holding a damp cloth to the idiot’s head.

“Shut up.” there was a hint of a smile there however. “He’s not gonna talk to me for a week after this.”

“Well good.” the sooner they found a nice part of the house to keep Kreacher closed up in the better. “And don’t pay him any mind,” since it looked like Potter was actually hurt at the idea of Kreacher being in a mood with him. “He was overjoyed at the new fridge last night. I’m pretty sure I heard him singing to it. As soon as he sees you putting in new cupboards he’ll probably make you a cake or something.” Since Kreacher, while he didn’t like the renovations while they were happening and was still convinced Potter was trying to slowly destroy the old house, actually liked it when the old crusty things he couldn’t fix were replaced. 

“Probably,” Potter sighed. His hand reached up, fingers brushing over Draco’s, almost in a stroke before gently pressing down where the cloth was. “I can hold this if you go fetch one of those handy spells you use on Teddy for me.”

“Like I don’t have them memorised,” Draco huffed, grabbing his wand and, after making sure there was no remaining bits of crusty wood inside Potter’s head, fixing it up. “Try not to brain yourself again while we check the rest of them would you.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Draco made a face, more so because he knew it would lead to Potter huffing at him than actually believing Potter would voluntarily fall through a shelf. Then again, the idiot had done stranger things.

They ended up taking all the shelves out of the cupboards. The food ended up cramped in the pantry, the two of them making faces at that when they realised they would probably need to tackle it next. For now, their priority were the cupboards. Meaning Draco found himself with his palms up most of the afternoon as Potter unscrewed each and every door, shelf and general thing that used to hold their biscuits. 

The kitchen looked worse than when they started with the doors off and, in some cases, the actual full cupboard itself in a heap on the floor. Potter had a plan however, and so far Potter’s plans had worked. That didn’t mean Draco didn’t curse Potter out as he fetched water that night. Yes, it was nice that he wasn’t afraid to turn the cold tap on, but the amount of wood that ended up embedded into the soles of his feet was worth Potter’s ire as he turned the light on, the door slamming behind him and demanding Potter tend to his wounds.

“Ow!” Draco whined pointedly.

Potter gave him a dark look, “Forgot how much of a baby you could be.”

“I have a good right to be.” There was wood sticking out of his foot. It hurt. It hurt more coming out as well.

“You’re a wizard though,” Potter pointed out, “Why didn’t you just magic yourself some water? Or, I don’t know, turn the tap on from the doorway, levitate the cup over and then turn the freaking tap off?”

Draco narrowed his eyes, “You put a lot of thought into that.” Draco would have bet anything the cursing he’d heard earlier while he’d been taking his evening toilet time was Potter trying to get his own water. 

“Shut up.”

Another toothpick of pain came out of his sole. “Ow,” he said in Potter’s face. “Be gentle.”

“It’ll hurt more if I’m gentle.” 

Potter pulled a few more out, Draco doing his best to keep still even if he made sure to let Potter know exactly how much it hurt. He finished eventually, Draco staring at two bloodied feet as Potter threatened to turn him into something awful if he even thought about putting them on his quilt. 

“I mean it Draco. Do not get your blood on my quilt.” 

Draco huffed, flopping back, his feet suspended in the air. He’d just wanted water. He’d just wanted a relaxing day lounging around being depressed. Instead, he was here, tired, achy, and witness to enough blood he felt like he was back home at the manor. Potter came back with dittany and muggle plasters since he couldn’t be trusted with healing spells. The dittany stung, and this time Draco wasn’t putting on the hiss of pain that came out of his throat.

“Baby,” Potter still muttered, sticking a plaster on one of the cuts. Then another until Draco’s feet were covered in them. “There. Done. Now unless you want me to kiss them better, go the fuck to sleep.”

“Didn’t know you had a foot fetish,” he stuck one of his toes pointedly in Potter’s face. He expected the hit, rolling with it until he was sitting up, his toes delicately feeling out how painful it would be to walk back to bed. “Thank you,” since that was what people said when someone else had helped them out.

“You’re welcome,” Potter sighed, tossing the dittany onto his bed.

Draco stood, and a few things happened which he didn’t really register or remember as he did. For one, he’d gravely miscalculated how horrible it would be to put pressure on his feet without wood sticking out of them. His knees almost entirely gave way and were it not for Potter’s convenient shoulder he might have actually found himself on his butt. For another, Potter, for some reason, hadn’t noticed Draco actually doing what was asked of him and getting up to go to bed, hence him being there when Draco needed a shoulder to lean on. For three somehow, and he wasn’t sure how, either Potter saw him leaning towards him as a come on or it just happened naturally, but somehow Draco found himself with Potter’s hand on his waist and lips under his own.

They were kissing. Like, actually kissing. Potter’s lips were on his own and not for the first time. A thought that should have rattled him more than it did. But, at that present moment all he could think about was the fact that Potter’s lips were on his own, and those bloody glasses were awful to knock against. 

He got a better grip on Potter’s shoulder, leaning back enough to breathe his own air again. Or, he would have had Potter not followed him, Draco finding his head knocking gently against Potter’s bedpost, their lips meeting again and, well, maybe Draco kissed him back. Maybe. Just a little. His hand also may have gravitated from Potter’s shoulder to his neck, fingers splaying up until they could knock against those awful glasses. 

He drew back, the two of them just breathing for a moment. “You kissed me,” Draco heard himself say. It wasn’t bad either. He wasn’t feeling any regret. Which was strange since this was Potter. He’d just kissed Potter. Some part of him said it made sense but the other part was still just wrapping itself around the idea that not only had he kissed Potter, but  _ Potter _ had just kissed  _ him. _ Actively too. They could have brushed off that first one, but the second? Standing here with Potter’s hand definitely not on his waist anymore? No chance. 

“You kissed me back,” Potter muttered.

Draco hummed. Then, since he had to ruin it, “Does this mean I can sleep in your bed tonight?”

Potter reared back, red high in his cheeks, “What?”

Draco flopped himself back onto Potter’s mattress, his feet thanking him for it, “I don’t want to crawl all the way over there. I’m in pain. I’m injured Potter. If Peters were here he’d demand at least three days of rest.” He wouldn’t. In fact Draco wouldn’t even go to him with a problem like this. He didn’t need feet to fly a broom after all. But Potter didn’t need to know that.

“An actual infant,” Potter called him. 

“An actual infant you just kissed so,” Draco crawled his way up to the pillow, “I’m staying here tonight.”

Potter shoved him over, attempting to climb under his covers. Draco tried to worm himself in, he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want to chance the floor again. But Potter wasn’t giving up the small space he didn’t take up and pretty soon… well, they weren’t fighting like Draco thought they would be. Instead he had Potter half on top of him, the two of them kissing, again. 

It was weird. It was strange and odd and also kind of nice. He didn’t know why he was letting it happen. Why it wasn’t just the idea of a boy on top of him after so many years of being alone, but Potter that was making everything tingly. He didn’t know why he had a sudden, weird urge to ruck Potter’s shirt up until he could get his hands on Potter’s back. But he did, and it looked like Potter was in the same boat. He could feel his own frown mirroring Potter’s when they broke apart. Yet the pair of them leaned in again, this time Draco managing to drag Potter’s shirt up enough he could feel the soft skin of a nipple when his fingers dipped around.

Nothing save that really happened that night. Potter yawned about three seconds after Draco tried dragging his shirt off even further, and once Potter yawned, Draco yawned and suddenly things didn’t seem so desperate. He was asked to shift, Potter’s bony legs digging into him as they actually got under the covers and then, that was it. He slept. 

He slept a lot.

He wasn’t the only one, Potter’s quiet snores the thing to wake Draco that next morning. He should have felt something lying there. Regret. Fear that he was getting kicked out, or just fear that he was being messed around with. But in the gentle late morning sun he couldn’t bring himself to feel any of that. 

Maybe this had been a long time coming, and that was why when he looked at Potter he didn’t want to call him just ‘Potter’ anymore. Hadn’t been out loud to some people for a while actually. He’d have to see if he wanted to keep it that way, commit to more than just a first name. But for now, in a house that was slowly becoming less disgusting, and rooms that didn’t mean he had to walk for half an hour to find someone, it would do. 

He was, dare he say, happy, there. 

Which was probably why, in the silence of the morning, he muttered, “I hated that tap.”

Hearing back a quiet, “I know,” Potter barely moving as his breathing evened out to normal, “that’s why I got rid of it.”

“Git.”

“Idiot,” Potter shot back, his mouth quirking up into a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might write more for this, I might not, but this is a nice-ish place to end it for now. I really wanted to explore more of it though, I just don't have the motivation.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always welcome.


End file.
